So many of my frustrations are because I need to know why.

 What does depression look like? Guilt and repeating poor choices. Letting imperfection reign victorious. Imperfection is the very truth; perfection is a longing only. Dirty feet. Not wanting to sweep though the floor is crumby again. Pissing K off because finishing stuff is anathema to me. The dregs.

 Dear Chloe:

The Truth. It's color in free form. Laughter. Always laughter. Cold carbonation. Songs, deep sorrowful and dreamy. La lune. Les chats. Italiano. Chocolate. Men with sleepy eyes.

 When night sneaks up on me and doesn't drag out the dusk's fading, that's merciful.