I want to go home. I say, as I am lying on the bed that I have grew up on.
As they say, home is a feeling, not a place. Maybe I’m crying my heart out for the purity and innocence I once had. Maybe I am already being killed by the thoughts in my head. Maybe I need saving from myself.
But who will ever understand?
Many would say they know the feeling and they are with you in your fights but in the end, at this lonely night, you are alone, with the most lethal killer of them all, your thoughts. But this night will pass, just like the other nights, as you console yourself. Everything will get better, you lie to yourself.
Just sleep them all away, you believe.