doot doot.

most of the time, i stick my chin out and run straight into that wall again and again just to prove that it doesn't hurt the way they want it to. puff up my feathers. sit tight in this armor made of past and hurt.

occasionally, i turn my head down toward my hands and close my eyes. because these are the times when wine isn't enough, friends' best isn't sufficing, and there is little sweetness in the air. there is no blame to lay, and you can't find a fault to patch. it is just so.

i walk through these dream cities and dream courtyards and find my friends torn, beaten, and overly apologetic as i walk slowly and quietly into this fortress to crawl into a corner.

i walk slowly from my car into my house, and i think about all of the friends that have left me and how many i've left. these are the times that i rise to false defenses, cowering and stupid, crying to have small moments back for one more 'goodnight.'

usually, i'll stand tall, suck it up, and hold my strength in front of a broken face. but these are the times, and it's difficult to hide in a wasteland. and i'd give it all up, but i've nothing left to give. and i'd tell you great stories if he hadn't told them better. because these are the times that girls fall into old habits and leaving is a 'when' not an 'if' and days seem to pile instead of pass.