Hey, Hungary!
I imagine you're just getting ready for the day now, but it feels strange. It's just about one thirty here, and the night sky looks like it's holding its breath. But maybe that's just because I am. I've been thinking a lot lately, about life, staring at the sky. It's almost as if I expect the answers to be written there by some nocturnal steam jet pilot.
I'm moving out this week.
They all say college is the next best adventure in life. Everyone keeps asking me if I'm excited. I hate that question. Why do people ask questions they've already decided the answer to? I am not excited, but I smile so they won't see past the hesitant "Yeah..." I give. I smile. But I am not excited.
I am terrified.
Which is also the reason I'm awake and lying in front of a keyboard at one thirty in the morning. What if my roommates are rude? What if I don't know how to find any of my classes and end up flunking because I don't know how this whole campus thing works? What if my professors think I'm incompetent? What if nobody likes me, and I spend the next four years of my life alone?
Now you see why I stare at the sky.
I don't really expect you to understand because most of this has just been my stupid poet's mind over thinking every possible scenario, but thanks for letting me get it out. I had to say it, at least once. I am completely, utterly, and unequivocally terrified.
But I've lived through this much.
I think I'll try a little more.
What if.
It's just six letters. Two words. One lie.
Harmless, right?
I'll let you know.
For now, I'm going to try to get some sleep. The poetry's starting to wake up--and trust me, that world is better left in dreams.
Thanks for letting me ramble. Even if it didn't make a scrap of sense, I needed to get it out.
Until next time--
Love, America
