No pen for the Buffy journal, so spilling all of my 40 year old teen angst on here today.
I miss seeing you, being with you, holding you in my arms. I wish that I had time to see you. I wish that one trip wouldn’t bankrupt me financially and morally. I wish I could leave it all behind and just come and be with you. I wish I could break the chains of depression that I lock myself with and just talk to you. But wishes and dreams are just that, wishes and dreams. Ideals that just float in the air like clouds.