Growing up you realise that running away isn’t actually sprinting full pell-mell through a forest
It’s a hollow room once lived in, stacked full of boxes
Some half full and others bursting
And silence echoing
Just bouncing off the walls
Looking for a place to be
The sharp sound of a tape dispenser cutting though it
Bubble wrap shuffling
Hoping that nothing else but your heart breaks on the way
I’ve picked myself up many times, but
sweeping up fine china is never fun ..
Okay I’m being a little dramatic, leaving is not breaking my heart because I’m going home!
Packing is painful though and I’ve been doing it a little too much the past few years
But I’ve grown to hate this place and people in it
I hate who I am here too
*Cue the angsty lyrics from my teen years that are still stupidly relevant*:
I’M LOSING SLEEP
I’M LOSING FRIENDS
GOT A LOVE HATE LOVE WITH THE CITY IM IN
I’LL COUNT THE HOURS
HAVING JUST ONE WISH
IF IM DOING FINE
THERE’S NO POINT TO THIS