When you finally think things are going well, you wake up with your bags packed.You realize your semi-stable life is actually a volatile volcano that could erupt at any moment. This house is filled with hatred, disdain, no respect, and pure resentment. The underlying, damaging current isn't something that simply disappears, even if it seems placid for a week or so; it's always there, ready to drag you under. Don't get too comfortable anywhere you are, for the bridges you have burned, and the hearts you have broken never fully heal. That shiny dagger of revenge is always a few inches from your throat...I should keep a bag packed by the door just in case they all turn on me, and force me to leave some fateful day. It wouldn't be the first time. But this time, I would never be able to return. Regret is my lone friend in this world; never leaving my side. I am existing in this empirical world, proven and tested by pain... Living a conditional, provisional life; I am in an urgent state of non-complacency, and at this point, everyone is seemingly pointing at the exit; coaxing me through... The scary part is, I'm starting to think perhaps I should edge my way toward that door. After all, why stay somewhere you're not welcome...
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