so many

freewriting but typing. (usually i write this out first, but i am going to type and see if it changes anything.)

my face is becoming a portal to tomorrow and i am afraid. i am afraid of what you are holding in your hands, it is change and am i not well aware of that. holy hell and holy god in heaven i am shaking trembling inside of myself, and you can't even see my one single rip in my cheek. where. that is the true question, a question of where. maybe of why. i always thought it was why but now i am thinking maybe it is a where, where do we feel happy and sad and alone and at home. i think it's silly; the concept of home. i think semicolons are ridiculous, too. but seriously, where is home? nobody grasps it for the longest time, i think. you can buy houses, oh, you can buy houses. big ones at that. i have a weakness for big ones, southern style, with balconies and porches and basements, brick or white, particularly. but just because it's beautiful and some catch my breath doesn't mean it's home. all i want is a library. that was my goal when i was younger - a house with a library, and maybe a music room, filled with instruments. but i am going to become what everyone else becomes out of their high hopes, and my library will be a little office with a few books in it and my music room with be my living room with a small electric keyboard instead of a baby grand. but i will take the grandeur and donate it to the starving children, right? i hope so.

the future is scary, sure, but it's the present that i'm becoming afraid to live in.

i don't know what to do with you, now that you are changing, and i am changing, and you have seen me being me, and i have seen you being different. "and we were doing so well." that's all i can think. that's all i can think, with this. i don't know what to do, i never know what to do, who to say what to, because it's so unimportant once i leave, even though it won't leave me. i can leave you, but you will always, always, always be there.

i can't escape anything anymore. it's all inside my head, all the time. and there is so much. so much. it's so hard to manage. i never bothered to organize it. organise. i want to go to england, so i can spell things differently for fun. organization, organisation. the right way, the wrong way, the same way. i want to speak and breathe and live a different culture so i can learn, so i can see what it is like to not be like this. because that's so important, to live outside yourself.

you don't care anymore about what i'm writing, but does that matter, what you care? you don't have to be reading this. you really don't. and yet i still feel bad, that there are so many words.

night is hopeless, tears are exasperation.

hold me, please? but don't. i don't need someone to help me, no, no, i am stubborn. don't. i take it back. don't hold me. i don't need anything.

i need a backbone.
and i need sleep.

good night, my world, my bed, my ideas.

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