...I'm giving up because all I know is that I'm breathing.
I miss home...I miss everyone and I don't know what I have down here. I miss the comfort of my bed, I feel as though I come to a strangers house after school, after work.
He can't come to prom. And I do care. And...I don't want to go now. And this is something that shouldn't matter to me in the first place.
I can't go to Nicaragua and...maybe that's God's will. And maybe it's not because I don't want to just fundraise anymore, I want to love and be loved and give love.
...But if we met on the street I wouldn't even see you, because I'm blind from this...
I can't find myself, I can't find any strength. I just want to give up and sleep for the rest of this time...For the rest of my time. And I know that it isn't my time yet, that there's still things for me to do here.
I'm so sick of this frustration. So sick of being tired and giving up. I'm so tired of not having faith, of not having hope. I just don't want to care anymore.
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When missing you became a fact, life became fiction. The written account of a Tessa Elizabeth MacMurchy, a figment of imagination.
1 comment:
darling,
i know exactly how you feel. its even worse being here at home, and having it not feel like home anymore. im going to be there in 17 days :) we will figure this out. i promise.
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