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Description
This is how it goes.
You come to terms with the fact that your life will come to mean nothing, just a tiny fraction of history that will be forgotten throughout generations, and then suddenly someone says something - just a few stupid words which, if they were split into different sentences would be meaningless - and all this lack of concern caves in and all of a sudden things start to gain meaning again.
     Opening old wounds can be as dangerous as developing new ones.
     I had to get out of this house. I ran. I ran until my heart raced so fast not even a hummingbird could compete with it, and then I ran some more. Through streets and past houses which had so recently been stripped of tinsel and fairy lights, the commercial side of Christmas had now vanished. The rain beat down on the groud which, if you were on holiday at a camp site, would usually create comfort in knowing that you're inside and warm and you could sit back and listen to the sound of rhythmic pattering, but the only meaning it held now was the fact that it was an obsticle preventing me from getting wherever I was headed for fast enough. There was a harsh wind, you know the kind that stings your face, the kind that should be accompanied by snow but had now been replaced by the thought that whatever happens in this cold existance, you will always be alone.
     Bored of running in a straight line, I cut through a lane. Shadowed by trees, their twisted leafless branches swayed in the wind creating obscure shadows I often mistok for being a rapist, an serial murderer or some escaped loon from a mental institution randomly lurking about in the woods, funny really since if you were any of these the cliche'd "deep dark forest" is the last place you'd be. Although I was failing to notice that I was tripping over rocks and slipping on mud - in fact I was spending most of this journy either face down or on my ass - there was this constant nagging thought in the back of my head that one of the tree branches would break off and fall on me. Such a disorganised anxiety.
     As the glow of streetlights grew stronger and I was once again in the middle of another road, I lost all hope, in doing so I let my usual hatred of mobile phones slide and grabbed it out of my pocket - I fail to remember why it was even there in the first place - and dialed his number. He answered in his usual way, as if he had just been asleep for a week and as usual there was the background noise of some bar or club - anywhere that alcohol was availiable - making his voice unclear. Yet I heard it well enough to know that he didn't matter, none of this mattered. I froze. This was nothing to do with the weather and the fact that it was below zero degrees and I was running about at half past eleven in the night in the rain with only a t-shirt and ripped jeans to keep me warm. No. This was the kind of freezing that you experience when you're a kid and you find out your mum has died, or you find yourself seated aboard an aircraft that has just lost cabin pressure. This was pure fear. I hung up the phone and having lost all interest in running, decided to collapse to the floor. That's what I'll always be. The collapsable girl, travel size so you can take her anywhere and everywhere. I'll be your luggage aboard the aeroplane that's rocketing at 300 miles per hour towards the ocean, I'll be the cancer eating away at the brain belonging to a complete genius, when your life starts to crumble I will be the one who tells you to give up. After pumping battery acid for two miles I was back to not caring. I lost all hope and once again, I was free. Everything that I knew, and everything I thought I knew about anything dissapeard into the depths of my mind. The infectious need for love shot me into a state of dissaray and confusion. Love, is an infectious human waste product. I didn't need love. I was free.

Description
This is how it goes.
You come to terms with the fact that your life will come to mean nothing, just a tiny fraction of history that will be forgotten throughout generations, and then suddenly someone says something - just a few stupid words which, if they were split into different sentences would be meaningless - and all this lack of concern caves in and all of a sudden things start to gain meaning again.
     Opening old wounds can be as dangerous as developing new ones.
     I had to get out of this house. I ran. I ran until my heart raced so fast not even a hummingbird could compete with it, and then I ran some more. Through streets and past houses which had so recently been stripped of tinsel and fairy lights, the commercial side of Christmas had now vanished. The rain beat down on the groud which, if you were on holiday at a camp site, would usually create comfort in knowing that you're inside and warm and you could sit back and listen to the sound of rhythmic pattering, but the only meaning it held now was the fact that it was an obsticle preventing me from getting wherever I was headed for fast enough. There was a harsh wind, you know the kind that stings your face, the kind that should be accompanied by snow but had now been replaced by the thought that whatever happens in this cold existance, you will always be alone.
     Bored of running in a straight line, I cut through a lane. Shadowed by trees, their twisted leafless branches swayed in the wind creating obscure shadows I often mistok for being a rapist, an serial murderer or some escaped loon from a mental institution randomly lurking about in the woods, funny really since if you were any of these the cliche'd "deep dark forest" is the last place you'd be. Although I was failing to notice that I was tripping over rocks and slipping on mud - in fact I was spending most of this journy either face down or on my ass - there was this constant nagging thought in the back of my head that one of the tree branches would break off and fall on me. Such a disorganised anxiety.
     As the glow of streetlights grew stronger and I was once again in the middle of another road, I lost all hope, in doing so I let my usual hatred of mobile phones slide and grabbed it out of my pocket - I fail to remember why it was even there in the first place - and dialed his number. He answered in his usual way, as if he had just been asleep for a week and as usual there was the background noise of some bar or club - anywhere that alcohol was availiable - making his voice unclear. Yet I heard it well enough to know that he didn't matter, none of this mattered. I froze. This was nothing to do with the weather and the fact that it was below zero degrees and I was running about at half past eleven in the night in the rain with only a t-shirt and ripped jeans to keep me warm. No. This was the kind of freezing that you experience when you're a kid and you find out your mum has died, or you find yourself seated aboard an aircraft that has just lost cabin pressure. This was pure fear. I hung up the phone and having lost all interest in running, decided to collapse to the floor. That's what I'll always be. The collapsable girl, travel size so you can take her anywhere and everywhere. I'll be your luggage aboard the aeroplane that's rocketing at 300 miles per hour towards the ocean, I'll be the cancer eating away at the brain belonging to a complete genius, when your life starts to crumble I will be the one who tells you to give up. After pumping battery acid for two miles I was back to not caring. I lost all hope and once again, I was free. Everything that I knew, and everything I thought I knew about anything dissapeard into the depths of my mind. The infectious need for love shot me into a state of dissaray and confusion. Love, is an infectious human waste product. I didn't need love. I was free.