I want to go home. I want to be there, to be away from here. I loathe waking up every morning, dreading the day ahead. Where did hope go? Did it take joy with it? Excitement, peace, laughter. . . all missing.
Tears, frustration, anger are such poor replacements. The weight, oh the weight. It’s pressing in on me, pushing me lower and lower. It’s hard to breathe. Hard to keep my eyes open. Hard to keep from giving up entirely.
I can’t keep looking at the same sights, day in and day out. Hearing the same words, saying the same words, playing this stupid dance-around-anything-real game. Giving and hearing the same excuses. Watching people live like they’re the center of the universe, saying nothing. Feeling like I have nothing worthwhile to say anyway. Knowing that judgment follows me, stalks me.
Wishing for something else. Something more. Something different. Something worthwhile. Something lasting. Something true. Something beautiful.
Longing for hope.