I miss my old life. Remember? That life I had when I was carefree and happy and graduation and so-called “real life” seemed like years away, when all my friends were here and available and I lived in a place I wanted to leave, not because I hate it, but because I had a constant taste for exploration and discovery of the world around me, all the time. Now, the weather is chilled and summer is damaging, strips falling one by one into crisp piles of decomposition, and I am alone, missing my old life, missing what treasures existed in it before everything changed and I ended up here, constantly scared, constantly missing you, and everything that we were once when I lived comfortably in my old life, on my throne.
And now, here I am and everything is different and everything is maddening and changing and growing colder and more distant and too old. And only one thing could make that feeling disappear and it’s the one thing I can’t ever have, won’t ever have, and it’s the one thing that would keep me sane and comforted in this whole wide world. And when that one thing is gone, your only option — my only option — is to carry on without it.
I miss my old life. And that is as cowardly as it is true. So painfully true.