And then there are days that I hate it. And I hate myself for hating it. The frustration is overwhelming. The city is out for revenge, no doubt for one of my countless indiscretions. Why must it be so difficult? Nothing is simple and everything feels wrong. The wind torments my already disheartened self, and the sun burns my eyes. The tears are angry, not sad. Angry that I'm succumbing to the pressure. Angry at the world. The days that I want to run home, pull the covers over my head, and scream.
Loudly.
If I didn't know any better, I'd think you lived in Paris or something! You are officially in the club. Unfortunately, the hazing never ends.
ReplyDeleteAll I can say is: I hear ya, girlfriend.