There was a time I thought I would change the world, but now I go to sleep early and fight wildfires in my heart all night long.
It's like I’m just trying to prevent further damage in a world where I don’t feel like I belong.
I’m not a savior, but sometimes it feels like I’m supposed to be.
The world is constantly changing, and sort of always feels like it’s ending all the time.
And I don’t know what to do with this information. I don't know how a person is meant to feel about that. So I stare into the sun or yell at the sky.
I wish I was the hero in this story, but it feels like I’m nothing more than a bystander in this life.
I attempt to fix things that aren’t my problem because I grew up in a home full of them, and my blood boils so easily these days, I could start fires with just a look.
I dissect unhappiness in a lame attempt to get it back, but it’s hard to understand something you never had to begin with.
I remember the last three years in pieces, and can’t help but laugh at how unreal it is.
Is this how it was supposed to end? Is it even right to call this the end? And where do we go from here? How are we meant to see the future past endless signs saying “the end is near?”
It’s starting to feel like home isn’t a place, but rather the echo of your name in my dream.
It's all of the things I know I can’t have in one place. It's a metaphor for all of the things I’m learning to live without.
The world could end tomorrow and no amount of fear anyone feels could outweigh the sadness I’ve learned to live with.
The truth is, my mind is a landmine, and the heart of me is a child dancing in the heat.
She learned to live with anger in her eyes and bitterness between her teeth, and now what you called living, she calls impossible yearning.
Now she swallows everything that kills her and does what she can to prevent the world from burning.