I feel as if my life is being driven by a concatenation of external influences that are cascading away from my sanity. My mind is a prisoner, and my home is a prison of my design. I’m but a derelict disguised in contentment. My navigational beacon crosses paths with joy and sorrow, and my dilapidated

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One morning, I was in a milk barn performing my job as I have done countless times before. The final step in this process is to turn off the pump on the trailer, which is done by flipping a simple switch. Simple enough and quite repetitive, being that I’ve been coming to this particular farm

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I still see it, though it was long ago every night as I close my eyes it starts where it left off the night before. That moment, my life changed in an instant, and everything I thought I knew crashed down when I read her say I love you to a man who wasn’t me.

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