So I dropped a note off on the counter top after I took a short shower and blew dry my hair. Grabbed my things, the books, the card, the money, the phone and shot out the door. And I'm walking and walking, and I'm thinking. And each step takes me a little further away from what troubled me. And I realized it was cause I wasn't close to this place I call home.
I'm not saying that I hate being there. I just feel so trapped.
So I turn off my phone, settle it in my pocket and put on some Buble that makes me want to prance around the street like a Broadway musical. I eat lunch by myself, staring at the little cute kid who constantly plays peek-a-boo with me between the chairs. Paying the bill. Walking off.
Studying in the library. Tuning off the thoughts that ran wild in my head. It was practically a breath of fresh air. All in my head was all that jazz, and it keeps the shadowy ghosts of troubles at bay.
All I needed was some time alone, and away from all this.
But now I'm back, surrounded, swallowed by reality. Nothing good ever lasts.