Honestly I don’t think I have much room to talk seeing as everyone is so tired these days, but I really am tired. Worn out. Exhausted.
I wont kill myself though, I can’t. I’m too much of a coward to actually go through with it, but If I were to die I wouldn’t be upset.
Whenever a topic like suicide is brought up, my mother often makes comments or tells me how much of a coward that person is. That it’s not brave. I don’t know if I agree or not. I never have known, I’m too indecisive. Even with small things like ordering food, or deciding what shoes to wear. It doesn’t matter anyways, because I just end up wearing the same black pair of worn high top converse like every other day. I used to try so much harder.
When did it change?
When did I stop caring, stop dreaming? When did I stop crying and start accepting things for how they were, instead of desperately explaining things?
I don’t know.
Everything is so underwhelming, and i’ll never be anything than what I already am. I wish I was seven years old again. I long to see the world through her big brown dreamer eyes, with a toothy smile and rosy cheeks. Now I find myself dreaming of anywhere else but here.
Somewhere I can fly.
I wish I were a great big bird, with strong wings and beautiful sleek feathers. I would leave and never come back.
It’d be a great escape.