This war was worth this.

I've been doing alright. better, actually. Some lady started talking about suicide and I had to go into the bathroom so I wouldn't have to hear her and think about it. It was too late. My mind kept going back to what I've been working so hard to repress. I've forgiven you. I never meant to make it about me. But damn if that wasn't something they don't prepare you for. Maybe I obsess over things, people, places, music. I'm just looking for a type of fulfillment in my life. More so than monetary value and pleasure. More like a warm welcoming "you belong right here" feeling. I'm Just not getting it. Anywhere... We're all flawed beauties. But only the true beautiful can accept that. And yes, our vanity is so overcome, we need checkpoints to keep us going. Everyone can delve into a nonsensical world with underlying themes of basic human morality, but once you come back, you remember its nonsensical and everyone lost their conscience when they lost their virginities. In the back of our minds, there is always another place we'd like to be. For some reason. That reason always involves a person we've connected with in some way, whether we know it or not. I bet you're in Canada right now. Listening to Sublime smoking an artificial cigarette reading a book on basic philosophy or an existentialist Camus play. I'm done. I can't keep coming back to this. Its underlying message haunts me and if I don't put both my feet forward, I'll never trust anybody ever again. As if choosing artificial happiness over my heart didn't do enough... We're growing up. Its inevitable. And nobody told us how to. We're doing this by ear. Nobody ever knows if what their doing is right wrong or somewhere in between. Stop being so picky. So judgmental, harsh. I'm trying to do this shit the best I can. No one told me how. The same questions are being asked, just not as frequently. The stars look the same and the stories have the same endings, but we keep fingering through the pages trying to figure out if we've missed something... Something will speak to us. And nobody ever tries to figure it out like I do. I want to know you. I want to know how you think, what you feel, and what gives you goosebumps. And sometimes nothing feels better than another broken soul's embrace. As if a mutual, "I get it." The fireworks-- I remember. I remember the phone calls. The barefoot sidewalks. The books and the sharpies. The angst. The music. Hoping summer will last forever. I remember. I want someone to remember with me. I'm holding out for it. Its like the cut-grass feeling. I think somewhere along the lines everyone else forgot. They forgot the tragedies, the jokes, the running so fast it felt like a million tiny needles were stabbing your lungs and heart. Holding back everything you could that turned into nothing. Yes, I'm okay. I never thought I'd get hit. I thought I'd get away. You all forgot the windmills and the tulips. If there were any left. I want an embrace. And maybe my fingertips are finally feeling relieved, maybe my dreams are holding my only essence of anything and everything I am made up of. Every morsel, atom, cell of me. Maybe its on overload. The sticky hot summer days are starting to rub me the wrong way, but this is me and this is who I am. And this? This is only the beginning.