Everything is finally gone. Just got tired of looking at it. I'll probably end up burning the rest... It should be interesting at least. I'd almost want to keep them, to remind myself of how ignorantly happy I was.
But I think I'm happy now, mostly. At least as much as I possibly can be. I doubt that I'll be completely happy, ever. You'd think that it would have happened by now if that were possible. But I've gotten used to it, so I can make due right?
I wish I had more people to talk to. I used to. I had so many people to talk to, and now I have walls. White walls and the same square room with all the complacent junk that sags in place in piles. I really have no ties to my past except for myself and the hurting in the pit of my stomach. For various reasons, don't get ahead of yourself.
Risking sounding desperate, though, I wish someone would just talk to me. Someone who had little emotional attachment to me. Someone to just listen and tell me a few right words. Everyone that cares enough to talk to me cares too much to listen to me. And all I do is hurt and disappoint.
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