12.04.02
Get me through this
The nights come quickly, it gets dark not long after four. What she said is true, there's a panic deep in everyone's eyes, lines underneath them, creased into the dark smudges, and vacancy, too.
I get lost in this quiet desperation. At night when I'm trying to sleep, worried about money, exams, Christmas presents, finding the time, not dissapointing anyone. And sometimes I choke back tears, refusing to let them come.
Yet every morning it seems better somehow. Because of the snow outside my window, or because I'm going home soon, or maybe it's because, really, it's not that bad.
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