I cried on my drive home yesterday. Now normally I wouldn't talk about something like this but lately Ive been trying to acknowledge my emotions instead of crumpling them up or lighting them on fire or swallowing them whole. So i'll tell you.

I cried on my drive home yesterday because the thought of getting there and parking my car and putting my key in the lock and transferring all the heat from my hand to the surface of the handle just to step inside and transfer all of the heat from my body to the surface of the air made me want to put my foot on the gas and never stop accelerating. Newton told us that a body in motion stays in motion and the thought of arriving and feeling all of my warmth drain my blood into the mouth of a leech made me want to prove him right.

But im so tired of it really. Im tired of running and im tired of writing about what home really means and im tired of trying to find the right answers to questions I don't even know how to ask.

How do you go back to a bedroom that feels like a graveyard, where the only things that disturb the dust are the ghosts passing through? How do you heal in a house that only reminds you of your own hurt? How are you supposed to give all you have and survive at the same time?

Is it a victory to conquer race living in today?

Tomorrow, I will live more simply. I will wash my face as the coffee brews. I will hang my clean clothes in the closet. I will sit in the sun for a while. When my sister calls to tell me about her exams at school, I will answer. When the afternoon melts into evening, i'll pull the weeds from the flowerbeds. The ground will not give beneath me, the rhythm in my chest will not falter.

I become so confused by the drastic that sometimes I forget mundanities exist. That there are rests between the notes and there are other things other than noise. I am trying to entangle myself from the adult desire to proceed without pausing. I'm trying to refrain from turning everything into some inevitable countdown to some inevitable end.