100 Characters

This loneliness sucks.

The sky is deep blue and the sun pierces my skin slowly. I wonder when it will finally melt. I abhor it. Day after day after day after day I do exactly the same things, I climb the same hill, I ride the same bus and I eat the same food. I see the same stupid little girls dressed all the same; rubber bones to eat, dogs behind them. I have to study. It's the only way to keep the days going. I mean, days could perfectly go without Saussure and Cervantes and the Popol Vuh, but I'm a citizen of this little town and I'm supposed to have my responsibilities.

That life used to suck. It was cold as hell, I had to run and let that air freeze my lungs. Now my lungs are fried with all that despicable nicotine air. What's better, what's worse? Of course here's better. I'm learning more stuff. I have my home. But I don't have you. All I have are these pieces of you floating around, stupid little messages, that's all we've got! 100 characters to tell each other stories? 100 characters to say how unbearable the pain is? Can't you see? Of course you know it. But you're home. So am I.

I'm tired of being here. It's a cage of routine. I don't have a second to myself. All my life is supposed to be devoted to Cervantes and Silva and to the thought of "I wish all those stories were mine. I wish I were there." Yeah. I envy my teacher. I envy him because he's been there and I'm stuck here. He speaks the language and it's still all drawings to me. This is not my place. My place is wherever you are.

I'm a nowhere girl. Making all my nowhere plans for nobody. Making all my silly nowhere plans for you. Trying to keep on this routine to forget that I have a beautiful hand to hold at the other end of this saltwater ball. Everybody's got somebody and I've got 100 damn characters to bleed.