Our falling bombs are her shooting stars....

I doubt myself. If I could be completely honest inside, I would be happy. I do spend too much time focusing on what I want and not what I need. Fuck, I've been preaching for so long about how things that I truly want, are usually not the things that I truly need. How do I learn to trust myself? I think I really do need to go away. But then I need to come back and go to school. I need to go away because it will teach me to let go. And for once, I need to create my own change, instead of rolling with whatever comes to me. I need to realize that leaving isn't going to make me feel wanted. I have to slap myself in the face with the fact that everyone else isn't a part in my little play. I only have me. I have to quit telling myself that if I go, someone will make me want to stay. Because they won't. I'm going to go. I'm going to leave for some time, and then I'm going to come back. I'll be different, I bet. But still the same person. I can start over. I can go to college, and figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life.

I was mad because I thought you weren't trying anymore. Truth is, I've been the asshole all along. You never went anywhere, I just didn't try and find you.

It's funny, really. I think that I am defined by change, and yet, truthfully, I am afraid of it. I'm afraid of changing myself. Becoming something I wasn't before. I crave change around me, but when it comes to myself, I cower. I remember my Mom telling me about the psychic coming to our house when I was young. What he said doesn't really mean anything to me anymore, it's what I said. He came into the house and I greeted him at the door.
"You must be Hillary."
"Yes, I am."
I stood maybe three feet tall, and yet, the self-assurance towered above my head. Years later, I seem to have lost that courage. All that's left is a subtle internal question mark. When did I stop knowing myself?

I opened my eyes to darkness, the linger of cigar smoke, and a shadowed figure above my bed. For some reason, I wasn't scared. I didn't even hear you come in. You leaned towards the bed.
"Sorry, I know it's late."
Half-asleep, I managed to spit out fractions of conversation before it was time for you to go.
"I'm sorry about before," I mumbled.
"Thanks."
"You have to let go of me. You have to make someone else happy."
"I know."
And then you were gone.

This morning I awoke feeling nightmares still clinging to my flesh. I strained to remember what had happened, but I couldn't. All I could feel was my skin prickling, and a deep sickness in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it's best that the dreams had faded away.






"Who will learn from everything we have done? And who will we get to stand up for tomorrow?"
-Matthew Good Band