log, friday evening

I miss writing with the unabashed chirp of sixteen, about rockets and sparrows and cold chocolate cake. My grief comes in waves, and it obliterates all I have and all I do. I try to tread carefully and not upset anyone around with my breaking heart, not you and certainly not other people. For once, I want to stop doing all the stupid things I do to keep everyone from leaving. (Continued)

It is the day after, and I thought it cannot possibly get worse, I cannot spiral anymore but God was I wrong. She snapped at me because my hands were too clammy to sign the attendance sheet. I broke down in the middle of the paper, picked at my skin till it bled just to keep from shaking. It's just three credits now but if the past two days were any sign, I'll lose my grip completely and then just go back home and lie down under the covers in my room until they start all over again. I'll let it all be. I'll lie in the dark and dissolve into my sheets till the strangeness in your voice is only a faint thing in the distance and nothing will matter anymore. I will be sixteen again, with the same gentle sorrows. I will choke on my repentance and let it take me. 

I want to see that old woman I'd given my earrings to at school. I want to see if they're doing okay, before I go. I haven't thought of them in a long time.