First phase:
Car windows, cold ones, winter. You were three. To this day from time to time you'll put your fingertips against the glass because it reminds you of simple things from the past. You always thought the world looked looked like it was unhappy from back seats, like it was reflecting your own complacency.

Phase two:
Narcolepsy. You can't stay awake anymore because when you're awake it's like you're dreaming and surrounded by reclusiveness and weeping and when you're asleep it's like you're alive and you're hearts still beating.

Phase three:
Car windows, nonexistent, summer.
You were five, nine, ten, thirteen, fourteen, sixteen, and seventeen.
Songs. Nostalgia. Windows. Sun. Sticky air, air that smothers you. Smiles with people you love. Songs. Those **** songs.

Phase four:
Punching walls, kicking objects, throwing breakable things, slamming doors. Screaming so loud you make yourself cry.
I learned from the best.

Final phase:
Leaving.