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Why don't you guys pick for me? I've decided that I'm 90% sure I'm ready to uproot and start over. The other 10% is still deciding whether or not I'm just that stupid to walk out on everything.
I think I'm running away. Running away from problems? Possibly. To be honest, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what to do anymore in this town. I'll never accomplish my dreams here, I'll never make a life out of myself here, and I sure as hell won't solve anything here. I keep thinking about the possibilities, ad there are some great pros of moving out of this town. This state. This place. The pros overpower the cons, there are at least three times as many.
And as for friends, I don't plan on making any if I go. I don't plan on doing anything the same. I'll keep my grades, but I don't want friends. If they become followers, then so be it. They'll just come and go. That's all they're needed for. They can just come in and walk out the exact same way. I'll keep everything to myself. Bottle it up inside.
And if we go to Montana, the city we've picked is about an hour from Yellowstone, if you walk. I'll confide my feelings in the living things there. Trees, animals that wander by and stop to listen. Maybe a journal or two. Hell, with my luck, I'll be mauled by a bear. And the bear can just maul me, and leave me there. And let me lay there in pain and suffer until maybe in a week or so someone finds me. Dead. And the only thing they'll find are some ripped pages of my journal. Just enough to MAYBE find out who I am, and how I felt.
And maybe, just maybe, they'll find out where I came from, and go searching for some other things about me, and they'll find all my other journals I've written. And they'll finally know why I've been this way for so long. And maybe they'll find the people I've been writing about. And they'll ask them if they knew. And they won't know. They never knew.
And hopefully, they'll find the letter I've been hiding. The one that tells someone how sorry I am. And how much love is in my heart for them. And maybe, if they find it, they'll give it to that person. And maybe, that person wil open it, and know. Finally. Someone would know. I doubt they'd understand, or feel the same way, or even miss me. But I hope they'll at least know.
And, I also hope that if they find the people I wrote about, they won't hurt too much when they find out what's happened. And maybe, they won't miss me either. But, they didn't know. They never knew. They never will. And, quite possibly, that one person won't either.
Life is full of maybes.
But, in the beginning, that one person is the reason I moved. That one person made my mind up for me. That one person was on my mind when I decided to leave, and that one person will be on my mind when I do leave. And that one person will be on my mind everyday from then on. And maybe one day, I might forget. I might just stop and forget that one person. And that could be the day I go and write in my journal in a shady spot. And I'll be writing, and I won't hear what's coming up behind me. And then the bear will maul me. Leaving me there. Dead. And as I lay dying, I'll suddenly remember. I'll ask why I forgot, but I'll rememeber at last.
I'll remember.
 nangal · Tue Oct 07, 2008 @ 03:01am · 0 Comments |
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