Words of a teenage escapist.

Five-minute word vomit. You have been warned.

I woke up today with the sudden realization that I've got three weeks left, three fucking weeks left oh my god, and I still don't know what to pack. My mother just dropped a bomb on me last night, told me that she won't be able to go with me and help me settle in at my dorm on the 15th of next month, she has a seminar or something I was too hurt to care or to remember at Cebu on the same freaking day and I feel so out of sorts because I need her, I need her, I fucking need my mother to help me adjust to my new life. She says that she'll be with me on the 16th but no fucking no I need her on both days but there's nothing I can do and I sound like such a whiny brat right now but I feel like the world is against me with its horrible timing. 

I've been writing poems again, I think I wrote four -- no, five actually -- yesterday afternoon with the rain attacking my windows and the outside world was gray and I felt gray inside too. All dull shades of gray that I'm still trying to shake myself awake from. I think I'm still asleep somewhere between the untitled one that I wrote about words dying on my lips and the one titled "She Moves, He Doesn't" that will probably never see the light of day or maybe they will when I've extracted myself from this darkness of a sorry excuse of an I don't know I just want to throw stones at mirrors and hear the glass breaking, see my face in distorted reflections because maybe then I'll find myself again. I reckon I won't because that just sounds utterly fucking stupid.

I've stopped trying to draw flowers & faces & faces with flowers and I've taken to drawing lazy patterns in the air instead but where do my patterns go? I trace my fingertips on something invisible and intangible but where do they go? Where do my words go after I've said them and let them out into the open? What about unspoken ones, where do they fucking go? Our memories, the forgotten ones, the ones we don't remember anymore? Pretty sure they don't just rot inside all of us or else we'd all be dead from the rotting. Oh right, right. I'm such an idiot. We forget about them. That's all there is to it -- we freaking forget about them and it's like "bye bye, you're no longer important in my life, you don't matter anymore ha fucking ha" and wow that fucking hurts because what if it isn't just words & memories that we no longer remember, it's people? That's frightening because if we can forget about people, then people can just as easily forget about us too.

I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I really truly am. Please forgive me.