I am anxious, anxious, restless. Contentment and routine are smothering me. I want drama, novelty, passion. I am too young to feel this old. And why. Why do we settle for resting, for nesting?
I'm tired. My heart is tired. My soul is tired. I try to be happy with my lot, but I'm aching for a jolt, a fright to jar me out of my apathy. Where is the fun in being a happy person? How could I ever be happy if I constantly crave misery?
I don't know. I just... haven't figured it out yet.
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