Sometimes…I just want to runaway.
Get lost in some city, because I’d much rather be lost in reality than in my mind.
I plan it out. I’d take nothing but my favorite books, my IPod and headphones, savings, and food to the bus station. And then I’d ride and ride and ride until I reach some distant place. After that, I’d change my name to Anne (I’ve always wanted to be named that.) and live alone.
There I could start again. Write a whole new book and discard of my old, ugly, dis-likable one.
But…as soon as I step out on the threshold, I stop myself. I find I can’t leave. I won’t leave.
There is something that ties me down.