There have probably been too many times I’ve wished it were easier. I’m not even sure if I’m the one making it difficult. When all these things conspire to remind you of the same few things, over and over again, it’s hard to believe that it’s really just all about you.
I want to run away. Get away, and out of this city. I ran for four days and now I’m back. We run and we run and we end up always at the same beginning. Where does it start? How does it start? The same old stories, all the time. Everything is normal till a point — bam! It hits you incredibly, like — I’d like to say, like bricks or a train, but this is nowhere near as sudden and therefore twice as painful.
There was a time when I would have been upset for far longer. Now I’m just tired, and I want it all to end. I want it to be as simple as it never has been, I would like to not have to worry, I would like not to have to deal with this, and this is a lot of teenage angst, the “why me”s and the “why not”s, and in truth I feel like a twelve-year old again. But I would just like this to end. Right now.