Nightingale.

My fingers have been resting on the keyboard for 5 minutes. Everytime I tried to move one of them, I fail.

Again.

And again.

Nothing is coming out.

This will not be a funny post. I'm sorry.

Too much emotions. Too much bubbles. Too delicate to validate.

I'm sitting here, in the dark. It's a nice night. I can hear fireworks going off somewhere in the horizon.

I live close to the ocean. And the pier. I can hear the ships' horns pretty frequently. Usually late at night. I like them. It soothes me, for some reason. Sometimes I lie in bed listening, and then fall asleep.

What am I doing here?

I'm 22 years old. What am I doing here?

I don't know.

I'm going to school. Period. Nothing else. I know there's another exam coming up in two weeks. Period. Nothing else.

I have walls. They are too tall and too thick. I tell people I don't want to get rid of them. Truth is, I don't know how to get rid of them. I built them myself, but I forgot the procedures.

I am lonely.

If I'm in the hospital right now, I don't have a list of people that I think will be there. No, I don't have a list.

I'm crying. I don't know why. That's a lie. I do know why. It's called self pity. Someone once told me that the only person you can depend on if yourself. I think I learned that too well. I don't need anybody.

My walls keep getting higher and higher; my fake smile keeps getting more and more natural... One day I'll look in the mirror and not recognize myself.

There's a GLBT center down the street from where I live. Tomorrow I'll go ask and see if they need any volunteers.

I will.

I promise.

There, the ships are here. I can hear them.

I have not felt this peaceful in a long long time.

Perhaps I'll have a dreamless sleep tonight.