I think, more than anything, I'm angry that I don't get to end it on my own terms. I'm mad that I'm being pushed out, shoved aside, like I haven't given everything I have for the past three years, like I'm something to be ignored because I don't agree. Because I don't want to kiss ass.

I miss Paris. I miss Paris more than anything, I miss waking up and being able to go wherever the hell I wanted on a whim, and stop by the Eiffel Tower because it was there, and I didn't have to worry about money and I didn't have to stress over this, and I didn't have a fucking care in the world. I want the feeling I got when I stepped off the plane and onto the metro, because at that moment anything was possible, I could have done anything. I could have fallen in love, I could have moved there, gotten a job. I could have done a thousand things, and I will never trade those twelve days for anything. That, amongst other things, will always be the defining moment of my life. Paris is freedom, and it's all I've ever wanted.

And now I have no refuge left.

And now I have nowhere left to go and it hurts that we are so afraid of hurting his feelings we'd rather watch everything else fall to ruins around it than let him get mad. I don't know why we're afraid of this, because I'm certainly not, he's dug his grave and now he can lie in it.

I miss Paris.

I miss my life 6 months ago, I had money, I could travel, there wasn't any cancer, I was a little bit more in order and now.

It's Christmas in a week and I wish I was five years old again.

closing time - time for you to go out, go out into the world.
closing time - turn the lights up over every boy and every girl.
closing time - one last call for alcohol, so finish your whiskey or beer.
closing time - you don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

~Katie