Deep down, I already know that it’s a matter of if, and not when:
I am going to leave you.
I don’t even know where I’m going yet, but I am so sure of it that once I can, I know I will.
I know you’ve been around for a long time, have seen more people come and go than I could ever imagine. Yet you sit there, seemingly unperturbed by this monster you’ve become. Indifferent to the lives your people lead.
You weren’t always like this. We’ve had some good times. You’ve given me an easy life. But you no longer give more than you take.
Maybe someday, you could become the city your people deserve. But I can’t plan that far ahead. I am not being selfish —- I simply refuse to suffer for the sins of those generations before me whose lack of competence, imagination, and care have turned you into this wretched thing: the capital of futility.
So while I still have a choice, I am making it. There are places in the world, some not too far away, that will welcome me with open arms. You, too often, welcome me with despair.
I visited a stranger's grave.
A Lover's Quarrel with Writing
Motion. Emotion. Slow motion. Hide my intentions. Show my imperfections. Everyday I'm just trying to get myself into motion.
2pm on a weekday. I'm over this. No more complaining. I'll use that energy to plan my escape.
Stories I Couldn't Tell Her - Part 1 of Countless
When I think of being content, this is what I picture.
On this cold, clear January night, some trick of the atmosphere makes the distant city lights twinkle like stars.
#1: Learn to receive love.