meeting new people is overrated.
the five of us, the two of us, the three of us, the one of me ... we just sat there, and i just stared at the strange drawing on the building over the fence. i smoked my cigarettes and popped into the conversation when i felt necessary, but mainly, i just stared at the strange drawing.
the night wasn't so dark, but it fell over me and hurt.
yes, you can introduce me to your friend, but i'm not making any promises on being charming, pleasant, or accepting. because after my first two sentences, he looks at you and says, "well, you did say she was bitter." so fuck'em if they can't take a joke, i'll just stare at that drawing a bit more until i remember that i forgot about the cigarette between my fingers.
then, none of you were speaking english, and i wanted to crawl back into my hoodie and fall asleep without thinking.
and they all went inside, and i turned to rockstar and almost started to cry. "i want to go home. i don't want to do this anymore." and he just gave me his patented wide eyes and shook his head. because i know that i'm not allowed to leave. i'm not supposed to run. i don't have a home. i can't let my mom and dad whisk away my problems by letting them let me sequester myself in their small upstairs room. but i want to go home. it's so much easier if i keep running. at least i'll know that i'm alive. pain of motion.
and a simple "what's wrong?" and a small motion of my head tells him that i won't be allright tonight. but he lets me leave anyway, swiftly and with few words.
