It's two in the morning. The second day of this brand new year and I know I promised myself that I would start this year right, that I would try my hardest to do things differently, that this time I'll change no matter how much time it might take and no matter how slow I am as long as I get there. But it's two in the morning and I'm wide awake with this empty cup of coffee by my left hand and a bunch of burning thoughts and realizations running through my mind. 

I know that in several hours I might feel differently, that perhaps the boisterous distractions of daily life and the fickleness of my feelings might compel me into rendering all these words as useless, but I haven't written in days and I don't even care how incoherent I might sound, but for now I will let all these thoughts consume me so I can write them down and be done with it. These are my thoughts, feelings, or whatever you might want to call them. These are the dark little things that shroud my mind at two in the morning while everyone else is tucked into their beds, asleep. This is me, laid out. 

I try to be happy with what I have, with where I am, with my life. I like to think that I am. I believe that I am. But there are moments like this that I'm inflamed with this fervent desire to leave. To flee. To start over again with what's left of my family in a place where only a few people know my name because maybe that's all that it might take to fill this growing void at the center of my chest. A clean slate. Back to square one. This house that I grew up in, this town, its streets, this country, all these people, all these faces that blur into each other- I love them but sometimes it just isn't enough. I'm tired of all of this. 

And there are all these questions that my heart is asking but I don't know the words. I think I know where to find them, but I don't know how to ask. 

Lost.