I can't stop it
it's coming closer and closer and closer
The days are no longer immeasurable because of their length, Rather they are immeasurable because they are so impossibly few. Too few to properly comprehend. I try to calculate the time in my mind, how many days, how much time, how many people and places I can see one last time. It's not even one last time. I will be back. It's a mere matter of months between now and Christmas break. Its a blink of an eye before summer rolls around again. I will be back. I have to be. The seeming finality of it all makes me sick, makes it hard to breath. I think of all I have grown here, the old things, the new. I think of his smile his cloying voice and his lips hard against my skin. I think of her and her tears and her scars and her standing right on the brink of something beautiful with hell at her back. I think of the places and the people and the memories that all come piling back when I stare at anything. I try to think of the new places that will hold importance. A street corner, a shop, a lamp post, a classroom. But it's hard. Because they aren't there. Because the future isn't definite, like the past. I can't think fondly of the future, because there is nothing to be fond of. When you live in the same house for 18 years you learn to love it. You learn to find the charm in learning where the squeaky floor boards are. Each scratch in the banister has some familiarity. A town with nothing to do becomes a treasure trove of little things, it is made alive by vivid flash-backs replaying everywhere you look. I am going to miss being in a town that breathes with me every step I take, and I am going to miss the people who have breathed life in to me
it's coming closer and closer and closer
The days are no longer immeasurable because of their length, Rather they are immeasurable because they are so impossibly few. Too few to properly comprehend. I try to calculate the time in my mind, how many days, how much time, how many people and places I can see one last time. It's not even one last time. I will be back. It's a mere matter of months between now and Christmas break. Its a blink of an eye before summer rolls around again. I will be back. I have to be. The seeming finality of it all makes me sick, makes it hard to breath. I think of all I have grown here, the old things, the new. I think of his smile his cloying voice and his lips hard against my skin. I think of her and her tears and her scars and her standing right on the brink of something beautiful with hell at her back. I think of the places and the people and the memories that all come piling back when I stare at anything. I try to think of the new places that will hold importance. A street corner, a shop, a lamp post, a classroom. But it's hard. Because they aren't there. Because the future isn't definite, like the past. I can't think fondly of the future, because there is nothing to be fond of. When you live in the same house for 18 years you learn to love it. You learn to find the charm in learning where the squeaky floor boards are. Each scratch in the banister has some familiarity. A town with nothing to do becomes a treasure trove of little things, it is made alive by vivid flash-backs replaying everywhere you look. I am going to miss being in a town that breathes with me every step I take, and I am going to miss the people who have breathed life in to me
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