"Do you ever feel like the best years have already gone
Come and gone and you didn't even know
they would ever go?
That they were the best?
I would have savored them more..."

I feel empty inside. I miss being creative. It fed me in a way I guess I didn't realize until I was starving for it. But there is no time.
I see no purpose right now. I see no reason. I see no greater cause, no eventual epiphany, no voice.
I think I've lost my voice.
And in searching, madly, throwing off old pieces of myself that are better than the whole I have now, I wonder if I'll ever be there, completed, authentic, happy, content.
I wonder if it was just the way things are when you're 13. Those days are never to be had again.
I wonder what I've compromised, what I'm settling for, where my passion went, where this cheap imitation of life came from and why it's still here.
Looking for a geographical solution, again, I wonder if I'm not just running away again. Will I really be better for it this time? Am I just trying to find excuses?
But it's too much here. That I know. I am not here. And suddenly I realize that I am just a ball of tears, Jan Arden lyrics, comfort food, and memories.
I only laugh at memories.