I... am kind of stuck in a rut. But I'm also far away from it. It is really hard to explain. So I'm just going to go for it. This is a think it, come out kinda deal. First off, my grandmother is dying. I'm having a rough time with that. I didn't know her as well as I'd like to, but she's my grandmother. I'm more worried about my grandfather, though. They've been married since they were nineteen; they've known each since they were fifteen. And they were engaged by sixteen. That's a long time, since they're both 83. And my cousins in Texas were raised by them; my aunt, my mom's little sister, has never, in all her life (until she sent them to the nursing home) been more then a hallway away from them.
Next off is feeling like a third wheel. It's a constant. In so many ways I am way more mature then anyone else my age; and when I do act immature, usually everyone else is too. I mean, I'm adaptable. The situation changes, so do I. But why am I always a third wheel? I found that buddy with Samantha, but now... we're barely friends. We've changed. I'm still excitable and happy. And I care about people, so at school... I'm set apart. It's a sad, sad thing when I think that kindness is considered immature.
I've just been struggling. Up, down, up, down. Not even an hour ago I was considering breaking off with all my friends; then I wasn't. Now... I am again. Is it worth it? Yes, no, yes, no... I want to be five again. I want life to be simple and happy. It was... once.
And here's a poem.
I sit by the window and watch the world,
It goes in a circle from green to red,
Then after red comes white,
Until there's green again,
Brighter then before.
I listen to their words,
Filled with hate and pain,
I wonder where love has gone,
All this is very strange.
These words are what they call advice;
Yet it feels like they critisize,
And I don't even know who "they" are.
All I miss I know I once had,
And all I want makes me sad.
This circle I'm in I'll never get out.
Yet there must be hope,
I cannot doubt.
Yet it's stuck,
Unable to open,
Where there was a door there isn't even a window.
I used to be happy,
Grateful and glad,
I knew what I had and I understood,
Now all I know is regret.
Misery needs no sympathy,
Though it loves its company,
Simple are the words I speak,
Complex yet is their meaning,
And all I want I had... once.