I guess I should start by saying that I don't really believe in other universes or alternate dimensions.
But sometimes I like the idea of manipulating where I am now into something... better?

Only to find that I'm not in that kind of better place.

So... until I reach that realization again, here I go.

In another universe, we met at the auditions for my first musical. I wasn't scared to audition because I finally wanted to put myself out there as a singer.

We both get chorus parts... figures.

In another dimension, I was told to pursue my music career like it was the most important decision I was ever going to make.
I stick with it.

In another timeline, I spent every lunch hour making friends laugh at my dumb jokes.

In another universe, I never lost those friends.

In another timeline, those texts never made it to their phone. Maybe they didn't even get on the ship.

In another dimension, I never stopped hugging you.

In another world, I stuck with friends I had.

In another universe, there was never that fight. We never had a falling out, and there was never a time where we stopped being friends.

In another universe, I never got on that plane to Paris.

In another timeline, I finally recovered from losing all my friends. I finally got better.

In another dimension, I stopped writing about how much the past 5 months broke me.

In another universe I never hesitated to text anyone for fear of interrupting their life.

In another world, I never recover.

In another dimension, I never get over it. I let it consume me and I commit suicide. I never said anything to let anyone know when the end would come.

In another world, I spoke up and said I miss you.

In another dimension, we never met.

I guess that would be a sad place to be.

In another universe...

It never rained on the pride parade downtown. It stayed sunny, and people kept walking in full glow of their personality.

In another world, I did something or said something worthwhile.

In another dimension
In another universe
In another world
In another life...

I was gonna be okay.
And I knew somehow...
That we'd be there.
Together.

But none of these alternate realities exist.
I guess I just like the idea of another outcome.

I like to believe that I'm stronger than I am.
That I'm braver than I am.

And yet, I fall into cowardice like any other reflex built into my skin.
It's a program the world wanted to overwrite onto my story. Like I didn't have a choice about whether or not I wanted to be miserable.

And I want to be better.
Who doesn't?

I just... fall away. Like it's so easy to give in to what you've been exposed to. No matter how dangerous or vulnerable it makes you.

You just fall.

I drop into a broken conversation, it just ended with an "I'm sorry".

It feels so final.

Like the unsatisfying ending of a story you wish you could rewrite. Like you're in so much control, you'll do anything to keep that control within your grasp.

I didn't want this.

I didn't want the final result I got.
Nothing.

An open road, and being told to just go anywhere.
Anywhere but were you came from.
Leaving home, and not returning to the comfort of the arms that held up your body when it couldn't fight gravity, falling to the ground.

They pick you up like it's the only thing they were ever taught to do.

I wish I told them everything.
I wish I told them how much I could cry.
How it could make an ocean all on its own.

I wish I hugged them more.
Told them they were the best thing that ever happened to me.
Told them that I would drop everything to be there for them.

That I would write songs about them.
That I would write and write and write until we had no more jokes to laugh about.

So, I guess the writing and laughing would never stop.

I wish I said more.

I mean. I wish I said something.

I wish...

I wasn't so afraid of being here.

I was told to go back to them.

I wonder if they'd ever want me back.
After everything.

So how do I go about this sort of deja vu?

Being told that:

"Maybe one "Hello" will flip everything."

Maybe. But I haven't gotten there.

Not yet anyway.

I've run away before.
Not for an overly good reason.
But because I didn't know what else to do.

I had no ID, no licence, no accessories.
Nothing that could possibly describe who I am or what I've done.

So I ran.
I went to the end of the block and turned right...
And the right again.
And again.

I ran around a block, but still ran in a circle.

Back to where I started.

My mouth dry, legs weak, heavily breathing and sweating out the 15th fever this week, and it's scary to not have a justifiably good reason to be here or to run off.

I want to scream until singing is a lost memory but I would not do that here. Not when I still have enough energy to cry.

And I do cry.
More than I should.
More than anyone should ever have to.

Running in the middle of the street not even close to being scared of the cars speeding down the pavement.

And yet, there are no cars on the road.
Open.
Empty.
Nothing.

I do want to disappear sometimes.
But I wouldn't do that now.
My suffering is already a public hanging nobody watches.

I ran away.

And I would run out of the city and never return.

The only problem is...

The only place I was ever taught to run to...

Was home.

And even that doesn't seem to exist anymore.

So where can I go?

It's raining.

You have to let me feel this okay?

And ******* if you think that we are getting better.
We're not.
You're not.

Everyone is sick of hearing about this.
Why can't you drop it?

Because it means something right?
I've fought for this.
I deserve a better ending than this.

You coward.
You've done nothing but run.
You can't keep work on track to save your life.
Everything has gone awry and you can't help but watch from the sidelines.

What the hell are you doing?
Pick yourself up and be happy like everyone tells you to.
Nobody wants to be around someone who makes them feel as sad as they are.
Your emotions are ******* contagious.
Why are you doing this to yourself?

It would be so easy to just be happy like everyone else.

But no, you decide to be a ******* and be stubborn about it.

Stop it.
STOP IT!

I don't deserve this.
Give me something else.

I will not drive myself to the edge by standing on one higher than most of my hopes.

Don't give me what can happen.
I want good and I want it from somewhere I can't comprehend.
I want my life.

Don't you?

Nobody gets what they want.

Stop.

Where are you?

Stop it.

You are ******* unbelievable.

Don't.

You're sick and susceptible to getting even more sick the more you haul your body around. You act like you're drunk, and you don't even care.

I do care.

Act like it.

I do.

*******.

Nobody suspects what they can't bring themselves to see.
You don't even want help do you?
You just want this pain until you're nothing but that.

I WANT TO GO HOME..

I want to go home...

Have you been writing suicide notes again?

No.

Don't end them with "I'll be home soon".

I don't.

I don't end them because I'm not finished here.

I don't want this.
I don't need this.

YOU HAVE TO LET ME FEEL THIS.

Please.

Do not make me guilty for crimes I didn't even know existed.
People have done worse things.
And yet they get second chances all the **** time.

Where are you?
Stop it.

Who are you kidding? You're nothing.

You can't decide if you want to suffer or make others suffer for what they did to you. So instead you complain like a ***** and nothing gets done.

Why can't you just accept what happened?

Because it meant everything to me.

And nothing has happened to acknowledge how much this changed my life in the worst way possible.

Stop chasing me.  

You know I can't do that.

Haven't I already paid for all of this?

Yes?

So what gives? Something has to.

Or someone.

I already have.

And I'm ready to go home.

Shut up and listen to me.

I am, and always will be broken.
I've changed, everyone changes, that's life.
I am a cynical, overtired, crying mess and that is the most beautiful thing I can say about myself right now.

Classic, I know.

I can't love myself yet.
But I do not need to right now.

Let me feel this pain for what it is and let it drag me through the cement until I freeze in my despair.

I will come back when they drill me out of my shock.

But as for my presence, I left that at home.
And I left home with someone else, and someone else took home on a backpacking journey with "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey blasting through their senior year headphones.

I left home, and home left me, what is the difference? Can't you see I'm struggling to know where my home is.

I need to pick back up, and when I do home will come back to me.

Because shouldn't home be here?

Shouldn't I be here?

Home should be with me, I should be with me, I should BE, I should see the presence of God and be present in awe of that.

I should be home.

Home is with them, and they are not with me.

Home should be mine to have, and theirs to rent.

Home should be here.
Home is me.

Home is here.

HOME is HERE.

Home is here **** it.

HOME IS HERE!



Hip hop and punk rock played its way out of my playlist when they paid their last rent and left for a new house.

Home is empty.

The house is mine now.

Home is mine.
Home is me.

Home is here.

There will be days when I want to be alone more than I want your help.

Sometimes I won't even think I need you around. I won't want your help.

I don't do this to hurt you.
I know it does anyway.

Just..

Wait for me.
I'll come around when you aren't waiting on me.
Wait for me.

There will be days when the past and my depression will be taken out on you. And I won't be able to stop it. I'm sorry.

Lately I've been trying to avoid apologies. Mostly because I've heard too many of them over the months.

I've changed.
Accept it. Because it's fact.
I didn't want to change.
But what else was I supposed to do?
Losing one of you was bad enough.
And if you're not careful, you'll lose me.

So heed my advice.

Wait for me.
Don't ask me when I'll be there.

I know in another life I wouldn't tell you this.

But that was before everything changed.

I no longer feel guilty for leaving people to wait.
Only because other people don't feel remorse about what happened to me.

People left me to wait.
Wait for what?
Nothing.

People picked out and left.
Rightfully so.

So I leave people to wait...




See?
Until I feel guilty enough.
Until I feel the guilt that others couldn't feel for me.

I need expected them to.

You need to understand that I am a good person.
Despite what I will eventually say.

Despite what they will say...

I'm not a bad person.

At least, I hope not.

...Wait for me.
Please.