Childhood sleeps in the tree house

Draped in torn blankets and dirt
Waiting for company

Ugh

And suddenly its Sunday and you're back in school and everything that seemed to distant is too damn near.  And you are tucked under your covers writing in your journal because it's the only way to make sense of what has happened, and the inescapable speed of time.  Maybe things won't be so bad, maybe it's all in your head.  How do you cope with a place that reminds you of everything that went wrong.  You text your friends, refresh tumblr, make soup; nothing changes.  It's 10pm and tomorrow is going to happen and time is going to keep pushing you forward.

?

I want to tell you everything.  I wish I could tell you what my worries are, how I know it's all going to get bad and it's all going to change just like last time.  I want to tell you what makes me cry at night, in the car, in lonely hours during the day, when you are downstairs folding laundry or watching basketball. I need your comfort but I can't get it from you without destroying your peace.  One wrong sentence will lead to an even worse outcome.  And even though I need to be honest and brave, I don't want to be responsible for the destruction and sadness.

I wish for things to be different, for things to be good.  Why does nothing good last, or come without consequences?  Why do I need to face these things?  Why do I have no support?  Why do I put you first?

Doesn't my fate matter too?

What I think about

I have the coldest room in the house.

My closets claim one full wall of my room, which lets in the drafty air from the attic behind their walls.  I used to pretend there was a secret door from inside, behind my shirts, that would lead into the attic.  I'd picture myself curled into a ball, starring at the insulation, listening to the wind and rain on a tuesday night.  At least then I would have a reason to be so lonely.

365/365

It's the end of the year and nothing feels important.