I am frustrated and alone. Trapped in a land not of my own choosing, desperately craving the clean skies of a far away memory. I know that I am supposed to make the best out of my situation, that wallowing in self pity does absolutely nothing, but I am desperately, desperately terrified, and utterly desolate.
I feel the remnants of peace slipping away. There is no fresh scent of ocean left on my skin, no more traces of feisty happiness, absolutely nothing left of the girl who left you behind, and I am caught in the tumultuous realization that some abstract future idea won’t matter anymore, because the girl you loved was her. Not me.
So the loneliness persists, invading my body until the parts become foreign and I look into the mirror without seeing my own face, because the girl is gone, and all I am is alone.
In solitude, I stand: estranged.