Forgive me, I usually only post when I'm sad or motivated, and if not, I'm busy dealing with other emotions. This is my story, and it'd mean a lot if you read what I had to say. Let the hands do the talking.

I’m missing familiarity, and nothing tastes like home here.

Love only exists in dreams I’ve never had.

It’s 5 in the morning, and I thought when you left high school, you’d also leave behind broken pieces of yourself in the people you met, and you’d soon forget about them so that they’d become just faces or names and empty vessels of where your memories used to lie. Instead those broken pieces become emotion that keep you up wondering what could have been or why people do the things they do, and there will never be one answer but multiple answers, and you will try to make sense of them all. You’ll start to try and piece the broken pieces back together, and maybe you’ll find the answers lie in the now, that you’ll never know what happened until it already happened, and that keeping yourself up trying to be whole again is pointless because it will just happen over time.

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