I wonder what would’ve happened to me if I ran away when I was younger.
When I was living with my mom in her trashy double-wide, I’d made plans to run away. Several times.
I nearly followed through with it once. Had the bag all packed and the window unlocked. I was too scared of the consequences.
If I could go back, I’d tell myself to run. Get the hell out while you still can.
Get out. Go. What ever’s out there is probably better than here.
Now I can’t run. Now, I’ve got too much to lose.
I want to, so bad. I want to know, what’s it like, to have all the freedom in the world, go where I want to. No overbearing family, no one to care about what they think, no grades to worry about, I could finally become athletic, hell, I could even start healing maybe.
Sure, it wouldn’t be as comfortable or as safe, but it would make me tougher. I could finally learn to fight.
I could be myself without worrying about my family and friends disliking me!
I just want to leave, so bad.
I just…. It sounds so appealing.
I really wish I’d have taken the chance when it was presented to me.