Six months gone and I'm still reaching, even though I know you're not there.
I'm chasing down the hall, looking for memories, stories, or maybe a future.
Maybe this is another case of stupid Sunday evening blues.. But with the events of this past week. I just feel the need to decompress.
I wish the words flowed freely from my fingertips. The feeling and emotion coming effortlessly. I'm a wretched mess: my seams coming undone. I am a selfish daughter, a fish dying for water.
From a young age, I had to mature, and by no means am I complaining. I just want to feel something other than this.
(from last Sunday)
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