I feel like I should be doing something, something huge, but I can't. I'm held back by my own inhibitions.
...
When did home cease to be home? When did my home become another city? I'm sitting in my room in my parents' house, the room that I've had for the past nine years, and I'm right back where I was, feeling like a prisoner.
I don't belong here.
...
My life is still all about counting down days, hours, minutes. I have a week until I have to leave. A week for me to get through everything that I need to do.
I won't be home again until March.
Two months never seemed so long.
...
Eyes For This Town by To Write A Riot!
