empty

sundays.

i hate sundays. but every second of every day is always changing. i hope that... i don't know what i hope, but i will hope for it anyway.

we both know how to ruin a good day, but in the end some thing has been said. if i could split my body in half i would give one to you, wrapped in gold shinny paper. the other half i would let loose... to god knows where. and then it would be fair.

i am afraid to leave this dome , this valley. i don't know if all my decisions are the right ones, but i just keep making them. i hope in three months i learn how to breathe, learn how to breathe right. my eye lids are heavy.