nature is whats missing. sitting on my bed with the window open wide, the frigid winter air pouring into my nostrils, filling me up, the sky- the blackness and the stars filling my eyes. laying and breathing and listening is what is missing. it's needed, as music is needed, to make me a better version of me. this place ruins people. it's ruining me, i know it is.
i dont know why i dont take this idea seriously. it was my own. why isn't it a realistic idea? it's ideal. its perfect. and as i write this i come up with every reason not to. i have to. to save myself and maybe save someone else. i want so much but its all so simple. so small...
a house, a hill, a cat, a love, a good song, a glass of wine, a tree with a swing and initials carved into the bark with the dusty knife that my father gave me when i was a girl.
i think i am running out of time... oh god please dont let me run out of time...
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