<< :
2003-11-18 @ 10:45 p.m. : >>
Unfulfilment
Why do I feel so unfulfilled? I just don't understand any more. I have so very, very much.
My Brighton friends send me packages. Disney socks. Photos. A big card in which each of them has written messages in a different color, telling me how they miss me. How classes and clubbing aren't the same without me. I am loved.
And I am loved here in Oregon too. Sarah knocks on my door to tell me she is making peanut butter apples for everyone for breakfast. And that she has made some especially for me with no peanut butter because I mentioned once that I've never liked it. Zoe and Natalie have both invited me home with them for Thanksgiving. People write messages on the board outside my room, telling me they like the pictures I draw.
I am also loved in Connecticut where Madison asks, "When are you coming to stay again? I want you to come tomorrow."
Yet still I feel like something is missing. Like this is not really where I want to be. It is baffling me.
Unfulfilment
Why do I feel so unfulfilled? I just don't understand any more. I have so very, very much.
My Brighton friends send me packages. Disney socks. Photos. A big card in which each of them has written messages in a different color, telling me how they miss me. How classes and clubbing aren't the same without me. I am loved.
And I am loved here in Oregon too. Sarah knocks on my door to tell me she is making peanut butter apples for everyone for breakfast. And that she has made some especially for me with no peanut butter because I mentioned once that I've never liked it. Zoe and Natalie have both invited me home with them for Thanksgiving. People write messages on the board outside my room, telling me they like the pictures I draw.
I am also loved in Connecticut where Madison asks, "When are you coming to stay again? I want you to come tomorrow."
Yet still I feel like something is missing. Like this is not really where I want to be. It is baffling me.