Freeze.
I'm over it.
Highlighter yellow fingertips, gnawed raw and rough around the edges; dragging over blue-lined migrained peepers.
And this constant reaching is making me ache, these tired arms are grasping at only ideas and getting me,
nowhere.
"She had not known the weight, until she felt the freedom",
but if I'm weighted now, can I ever be free.
And I have a confession:
all you hear is how I'm anchored,
weighed down to the depths of your balmy seas,
but I'm terrified
to jump ship.
So tell me, is it worse now out there on your own? Do you breath heavy, knowing the consequences rest on you only, that you are fully in control?
Or is your smile real, now that no matter what the consequence, you will never be as caged as before.
(please don't grow up completely on me, by the way, I need you atleast to stay the same)
I'm grasping at nothing, but living for something,
and realistic or not, atleast I try,
all warning looks be damned.
122 days.
stop. go.
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