It's Been A While Since You Left

i'm so close. so fucking close to not caring. i'm so close to not giving an actual fuck about anything. anything. i could just stop. stop paying attention in class. stop doing my homework. stop studying. just stop. and no one can make me do anything if only i choose that.

i'm so close to the point where i just stop caring. about anything, everything. and it's scary. it's fucking scary. cos this isn't what i should want. i shouldn't want to stop, to give up, to leave. i'm too fucking young to think that life isn't worth it. i'm too fucking young to feel this tired. i shouldn't want to stop. i should want to live. i should want to read at a french café on a rainy friday. i should want to see the whole world from the top of the highest mountains. i should want to look at the skeletons of times gone by and people who tried to make a difference. i should want to know every single story that ever existed or ever will. i should want to wake up at one end of the world and fall asleep on another. i should want to write down all the words that are inside me. i should want to see the sun rise in rome and see it set in new york. i should want all of that. i should want to live. live a goddamned life. but all i wanna do is stop. all i wanna do is go to sleep and never wake up again. all i wanna do is stop. what do i do?

nobody ever tells you how painful growing up really is. or maybe they do. maybe that's all they ever tell you, but you never listen.

i've started hoarding my memories. it feels like it's all going to come to an end faster than it should - and yet, every day feels unbearable.

i would like to leave. i would like to spend forever in my mother's arms. i would like time to stop here. i would like to be at the end of this waiting. all that i want is a contradiction of itself.

i would like the end to be final.

day 12

2:51 a. m.

someone, somewhere, won't you ask me how i am doing? please, won't you ask me if there is something heavy on my heart that i would like to get rid of? won't you just listen to me talk through silences and tell you what's breaking my heart? won't you please hold me tight without my having to say it? hold me and wipe away my tears and tell me it's all going to turn out fine. tell me it'll be alright so i may sleep 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?

day 9

9:43 p. m.

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.

as a kid, i used to read the maps

whenever i used to be upset

i would open up any map

and simply stare at it for hours on end

absorbing the world

thinking of all the places i've never been

of all the places i'll never be to

nowadays, i read theories about the universe

how it started

how it might end

time travel and black holes

relativity of time and the songs of the universe

did you know, two black holes,

before colliding

create sounds waves in the very fabric of the universe

imagine being so sad and beautiful and terrible

the multiverse theory is still my favorite

to imagine worlds where i simply don't exist

never did, to begin with

i wonder if someone in that other universe

ever feels like they are missing someone they've never met

someone who doesn't even exist

i hope not

so maybe what i really wish to say

is that right from the start

the world has always been

my only escape from the demons inside my head

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.