half the time the world is ending.

I've spent a lot of time in my short lifetime worrying. I worry about whether I am doing the right thing, the wrong thing, the best thing, the worst thing - whether you think it's okay, or if you will never be able to look at me the same. I worry about today, tomorrow and yesterday. I worry that my wounds won't heal, and I worry that eventually I will stop being able to pick up the pieces all by myself. I worry that tomorrow might not come. I worry that yesterday will never stop haunting me.

Some days, I think that I will probably have no choice when it comes down to it - that goodbye is the only way for me to grow. Other days I feel like I can't breath without you. Every day I feel pain, for being neglected. But I have lost - I don't stand a chance against the person you have created of me. I have nothing left - I tried to compete in a race I lost long before now. And I come out of it, broken and battered and worn and in a wreck. Somehow, it is still not about that. It is about this, and that and then and there and when that's all been sorted, there is still no time left over. I have never went after what I needed - have never set standards to ensure my needs were met. I have always settled for what I want, in hopes that needing something would come along in time. Well, here I am - long past the finish line and I'm still in need.

So much time has been lost, days that can never come back. And if I died tomorrow, would you say to yourself "I tried my hardest"? I know I couldn't.