Each time I leave and do my good-byes, almost as if I will never come back - I always come back - I am melancholic. It never ever gets easier. Cliché.
I need to be close to the people I love. Inadequacy present. The only love I've ever fully known is the one I have for my friends. I am so fucking lucky.
I know me well so if I stayed, I'll want to run away again. I hate flying. I fucking hate it.
Thank you for the most amazing 10 days.
My life feels like a goddamn joke. The endless laughter that ensued... Fuck.
Seriously. FUCK.
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