I Just Want to...

I just want to write.
At this moment, I can’t tell what I’m feeling. A mix of something unsettling and jumpy is roaring about inside me. I feel empty... Something is telling me that there’s much to be done, but I’m not doing anything. There seems to be nothing for me to do. My daddy always tells this to me. That I’m useless, and need someone’s orders to guide me through. Each time, I tell him he’s wrong. However, now in the situation I am in, it’s hard for me to disagree with him. Always up and about, but with nobody telling me what to do, I’m lost...

I just want to escape.
There’s something in me that wants to walk out of this house, and go somewhere. I crave the outside world. Right now, somewhere not here, there is an adventure waiting for me. I want to feel the sticky, humid air on my skin, and have the wind flap my hair around my face. Funny how that sort of things annoys the hell out of me, and yet, I want it. My house is my sanctuary, but sometimes it is also my prison cell. Right now it is a peaceful hell. Everything is calm. Everything except the part of my soul that yells at my feet to move, to take me someplace.

I just want to talk.
For the first time, in a long time, I’m stuck at home. Everyone is up to something... except me. I’m used to talking. You can never shut me up. I can go on and on for hours without stopping. With everyone busy though, there’s no one to talk to. There’s no one here to say anything to. I’m here writing this to no one in particular. Just trying to stop the echoes of my thoughts.


I think I'll go clean the house.