these days

So here's where I'm at.

My hair dye smells like raspberries, and turns my fingertips pink. It makes me feel powerful.

I'm making the best grades of my life. Studying so much that strangers have noticed.

And I've stopped pining for him. It was such a stupidly obvious decision, and such a good one. I'd recommend it to anyone.

I still get sad sometimes.

But I feel more like myself than I have in a year.

I'm nineteen and no one's in love with me, and I have freedom and a full tank of gas.

It feels like I'm on my way home.

I should be asleep.

It's late. I'm tired, and cold. I've been sick for more than a week, and the painkillers are wearing off again.

But I'm snuggled amid three blankets and a cat. He was uninvited, but he's purring so comfortably, and it's his birthday and it seemed rude to kick him out.

Tell me a story. Sing me to sleep. I don't want to be alone.

Goodnight.