i realize that i’m…scared. of the constant. not that i create drama when things are calm…but more in the sense that i start to feel like i’m bored…and that whatever it is that i’ve gotten used to..is not for me. i try to move on to something else. or…i feel like i want to. and so i’m left…standing at that road diverged in that wood….only…i’m staring back at my own worn path. maybe its because of all the changes i had growing up. moving so much and what not. and then when i did decide to trust and let myself get all warm and snuggly in others….i get attacked by the abominable snowman. and just like that, i’m left motionless. but stuff like that happens. and i know that. i even think i understand that. it’d make sense, then, wouldn’t it? to just keep going? to try?
….i often say that i run a lot. but does it count as running when i always find myself back where i started?
Recovered from Xanga 
I’m always scared of returning home… frightened that things are not what they seem. I’m scared that if I stay long enough, the truth will be revealed. I cherish stability… but I do not know where it is. If things were constant, I would be happy. It seemed lacking while we were growing up… so the constance that I found was in certain people, including myself. You, most of all, but also a few close friends. Stability was found in the people around me.
Perhaps this is the difference between you and I.
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