009.

Interpol: NYC.

This pretty much sums up anything I could ever write about the subject:

I've realized that lately all I have been trying to do is teach myself how to not care. How to realize when someone is a waste of my time. Or how to recognize my downfalls. I've been saturating my mind in art projects and trying to put my brain to better use than trying to teach myself how to be happy and how to not let small things get to me. I move to Chicago in May. I've heard that Luke is going and that he isn't going. A part of me hopes that he will so that I know someone is up there with me that knows pretty much everything about me and despite every bone in my body that tells me not to have any contact with him, I can pick up the phone and call him if I feel lost. I know I'll have a few friends up there, but no one who I've shared so much with and no one that really knows me. They're friends that I've shared a few dances with or friends that let me crash on their air mattress or futon when I need to get out of Cincinnati. Part of me is so scared to leave some of my friends here. I'm scared that once I leave, no one here will try to keep contact with me and no one will care that I'm gone. I can't envision anyone coming to visit me. I suppose that just puts me in the position to force myself to be social even though I don't have the one person who always helped me do that. I guess the only thing to do is chalk it up to losses being lessons.

I had seven faces. Thought I knew which one to wear, but I'm sick of spending these lonely nights training myself not to care.