Home Really Is The Strangest Of All Places. You Only Ever Seem To Have One As A Child. Older, And You

day 2

9:19 a. m.

one of these days, you're gonna get used to being the last to walk up those stairs at night and the first to walk down them in the morning. that weird morning haze won't look so unfamiliar to your eyes. that first buzz of electricity won't sound so ominous. you won't need to blast lorde at full volume to drown out the silence. but not today. not so soon.

maybe being strong is all about pretending. i can't think of it otherwise. how else do they hold each other up? how else do i look you in the eye and tell you it'll be alright?

reminder to self: just accept that alarms aren't for you. and maybe... just maybe, crying to lorde isn't such a bad idea.

day 13

11:32 p. m.

the lost feeling after waking up from a nightmare. scared of something but not sure of what. to just sleep until it all ends. to be or not to be. to stay awake or go to sleep. to sleep. to never be.. never have been. unless in daydreams. dreams far away from now. a lighter heart forgetting these days as memories. an easier breath, exhaling out these words... no longer a part of its body. but the waiting. dear heart, the waiting. how long till i breath again?

something something going through the streets of the town my mother grew up in. she grew up here. she was a child here. i am no longer a child. time passes so quickly. stuck in the traffic here, time doesn't seem to be passing at all. i hope the journey takes forever. i hope we never reach. it won't be the same as last time. this town was never mine so why does it still feel like home. one day, I'll come here for the last time. how will i gather everything in my little suitcase? all that sweetness, it turns sour when you take it back.

a summer with no griefs. that's all i'm gonna ask for this time.

Your eyes are so lively that they dance like humans underneath the starry sky.

- does this even make sense (via sunhsetful)

Not everything beautiful needs to make sense

So I attach myself to people who are not those who are long gone or those who were never here and I listen to bands whose members are dead and movies that no one else watched and I talk to characters from books and stories and tell of my sorrows to the words for they don’t come to me telling me to be someone I’m not expecting me to do things I’m not capable of

day 11

8:51 p. m.

i feel like i'm losing track of days. like i'm in a perpetual haze. like my body exists out of my self. like i am but a spectator in my own days. i wake up and i make my coffee. i drink it and i read. i work out and do chores. i write too. but my mind is... somewhere else. i run my fingers through my hair, unaware of both hand and hair. i place the leaf in chapter twenty-nine, not knowing what's in there. nothing feels real. no, not nothing. this pain feels real. too real. this heart that beats too fast feels real. this mind, though lost, still exists. i think therefore, i am. i must be. or i must not.

i want to go home now. go home and cook something warm. eat it under the familiar lights. curl up in my bed and read all day, all night. listen to my mother's voice as she sings far away, but close enough.

home is not the same now. but it also never felt the way i remember it now.

this unexplainable urge for a life i've never had, will never have. for a life so far from mine, it doesn't even know i exist. and yet, the yearning. oh the yearning, what do i do with it?