I don't want to be here. Not just in this dim room with people I don't know. Just here in general. I should've just stayed home. Coming here just doesn't seem worth it. Sure the music is nice and it set a pleasant vibe, but I don't see a point to all of this. Everyones talking about who's doing what and who is with who right now. Where they're at and how everything's going. It's all just dull chatter to me. I thought this would be good for me, to try and socialize and make new friends. That this would help. I should've known myself better. If I had a better attitude, as some would say, I could muster up the energy to immerse myself into gossiping with others. Maybe, just maybe, exchange information with someone and use the one dreaded promise "I'll hit you up later". However, I knew I'd end up hugging a wall the entire time. This just isn't my type of environment.
Driving back home on another abhorrent night from a party I was invited to. The party was nice and lively, but I don't like crowds. All my best friend tried to do was get me out of the house and engaged into some conversations with new people. But when I told him I wasn't feeling good, he knew that I didn't want to be there. He told me to let him know when I get home. He knows I have to go through the bad side of town to get back. He's the only one who gives me a sense of validation. I shake off a bad thought and turn on the radio. I flip through the stations, even though I don't know what I want to listen to. Soon I run out of options and I turn it off. Despite my concentration on getting home, focus leaves me and the silence holds me in contempt. Now nothing could help drown out the inevitable thoughts I was bound to have about myself, people, and life's mystification. About my disassociation, two faced backstabbers, and how broken and flawed everything really is. Coasting down this long street not caring about the stop signs and through the flickering of a broken street light, underneath it I see a body. It's a girl.
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Shes sitting in front of a fence. Her body slightly twisted, like there's some sort of physical strain. She's holding onto a chain lock tightly; like it's the only thing that can save her. She's smoking a cigarette but her mouth is slightly open, not a wisp of smoke leaves the cigarette or her mouth. All I can see on her face is torment and distress. Without a second thought, before I know it I'm parked on the curb right in front of her.
