Me realizing I planned everything perfectly... up until now.
It was all so simple. I needed to get away. Not far away, just far enough. I had the money; I had the means. But instead of doing the simple thing and moving far enough, I moved far, far, far away with a dash of distance.
I was born in The Holy Land of Great Britain, and had a terrible experience with this thing called life. Not much else to say but that I made the executive and impulsive decision my sophomore year to move to The Big US and finish my high school diploma there. I had so many ideas and I was bursting with inspiration to start my very own "American Dream"!
But no. Of course you can't ever have it your way in this world. Once you got life all figured out someone swoops in and flips over the desk of the future you created for yourself, puts it in a blender and turns it on high. I just had to fall in love my senior year. I just had to meet the only person in my life who understood. I just had to find the one guy in America who didn't hit on me for my accent.
But of course all perfect men have their faults. Leaving the seat up, never washing dishes, always does that one annoying habit you cannot stand. Of course he had his faults. Well, just one actually. He left. He always planned to. And I was naïve to think I could make him stay. Care too much and you get pushed away. Or shoved.
In a tight situation most people tend to choose fight or flight. As you can probably tell I have a favoritism for the latter. So what did little ol' me do? I flew. I moved to a town you won't find on a national map and flew in a close as I could, then hitchhiked the rest of the way. Where no one knew my past and hopefully didn't care enough to find out.
Present day, lying here in my new twin-sized bed-one of two pieces of furniture I blessed apartment 14E with. Instead of greeting my now-neighbors or touring my surrounding habitat, I peel myself off the small mattress and sit on furniture number two-a cushioned stool-and I sat next to the only window my tiny fresh start seemed to have. Staring outside my mind floated, and I couldn't help but think about the so-called renovations happening on the top floor. it seemed to be a taboo to talk about them, apparently they're always happening, never ending with some new-found problem that needs fixing before its opened. I suppose similar to men, everything has faults. My spaced out eyes drifted to a park that I could probably see better from my balcony. A fountain and a few benches decorated the area, along with a statue of a broad, important-looking man, with- what seemed to be a piece of... lingerie..? Even though my inner curiosity was calling away, part of me thought I was delusional and seeing only what I wanted to see: something interesting to perk up this odd town. I reached up to close the blinds when I realized I didn't have any.
And somehow it all was just to much. Suddenly everything felt like it was too far gone and there is nothing for me, here or anywhere. Having enough with this world, this town, this building, this apartment and myself, I slammed down on my bed, put the pillow over my mouth, and screamed. Frustration, anger, sadness, and a little bit of, "WHY DID I DO THIS" came pouring out. After who-knows-how-long I got up only to fall back down on my bed with exhaustion nearly pouring out of my ears.
As I slowing fell asleep I couldn't help thinking, "This is just another place for me to run away from." Collingwood Heights. Lets see how long I last.