Here comes the rain again. 

There comes a time when you have nothing left to do but pray to god. Praying, a concept which is so foreign to me, that I almost addressed my worries as “Attn: Morgan Freeman.” I think I’m color blind. or something similar in heart conditions. I’d like to say it’s not like me to be so down&out&underground, but hey let’s face it. I’m a thrower. I throw myself into something, anything. So why can’t I throw myself here? I’m missing passion and spark and heat and faith and who am I to forget my pulse, my appetite? Where the fuck is any color? I keep thinking, 2 years and then my life can begin. But wait, do I not love you like they love you? Everything should start right now. Everything should always be right now.

Will you love me when I’m settled? If I don’t feel like getting out of bed that day? What if I’m losing my sparkle again for a little while? I’m allowed to do that. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING. I’m tired of asking. 

So I’m sitting on my floor, praying to someone who’s name I don’t even know, on the first sunny day in a while, wondering how to escape the place you escaped to.