the things I should be saying are dying in my head as we speak.

Cross-eyed and fuzzy around the edges, this length of time they marked out for me, that I took for myself, this is taking too long and I am bored of all the derelict offices and stone stairways that lead to classes full of quiet. Waking up at noon and eating cereal out of a box, having days like those that never come to anything and never meant anything but how they mess you up so prettily. Leaving without prior consent used to mean I could do whatever I wanted without having to answer to consequences, which is all it seems to be about these days. 

Porridge in a bowl like Goldilocks, too hot too cold too fucking sweet and too loud. Too much time has passed, I look at these people and I never know you anymore, not the way you think or the way your voice sounds when you sleep, not like what it used to be, not like how I would picture it. 

And these words we say, these pictures we have in our heads, mine in yours and yours in mine, what will come of this? I will lie lie lie. My head is empty, I feel the hollowness slosh around in my skull like beans or fruit or gravy, something salty and ultimately heavy, this will kill me in the end but I won't let it. 

And then there are the people I'll never know because they won't let me, all the books I'll never have the time to read, the places I'll only see in my head. Hello, good morning, how do you do? I'll never learn the basic survival skills they all come with, like a buy-one-free-one in a cheap bake sale, the How To Speak Coherently and How to Keep Your People and How to Give Your Heart Away. How To Sing A Song For Three Months. I'd drown myself in stolen red wine and cheap whiskey and red salts and brines full of fish and stain my fingers and mouth red, but now isn't the time, and I'm too broke and too uncaring and too scared and too unmoved by all this. There could be a problem here.