Clarity.

It's been a beautiful week. I've grown unaware of the coldness and focused my attention on that glow in my heart. Oh yes, I am resorting to cannibalised cliché to verbalise my feelings. Such abstract feelings can only be deemed feelings if I can really rub a bit of metaphoric content into them. At least in my view, that is. Gah, I'm such a romantic, no?

Anyway - I had a really long sleep last night, which felt quite nice: waking up to find that I wasn't late for anything whatsoever. Later on today I got a text from someone I share history with and it's really angered me. He thinks there is something "[I] don't want to tell [him.]" Arrogant, much? It's bad enough that firstly he thinks I am deliberately avoiding him for the above reason, and secondly that I'd be ashamed to tell him that I have found one single boy who's worth thousands of hours more time than he is. I have wasted months of my life being jealous, paranoid, infatuated, belittled and messed around. I don't care if it was unintentional - common sense would surely tell you to put a stop to it.

I've needed release from that ever impending strength he had around me, and the prized feeling of relief and realisation is something I never want to let go of. Why should the skin around my heart be attached to what he thinks and says to me? Why should I let him govern everything I do, even if he's not actively governing me? My dearest friends have tried to drag me from him, tried to make me give him up like cigarettes but I wouldn't because I couldn't. Now I can. Now I have. I did weeks ago. I was sick of being belittled; I was sick of being chided.

I am not a seventeen year old girl with no experience of anything dangerous, anything difficult, anything stupid. I tired of being treated that way. Am I not allowed someone who'll feed my soul? Am I not allowed someone who'll talk to me for hours about interesting things? Evidently I'm not - seemingly all I need is one person making me feel twelve years old. Substantiation of the entire situation makes me gag: the levels I took things to make my eyes itch with sickness.

I despise what became of it all. My ability to sit and write anything I wanted to just died inside me. I yearn for words again, and they were stolen from me: I was a shell. Why do that to me?

I am ashamed of nothing: judgement passes over me like clouds in April. I do not care for his thoughts. I do not care for his emotions. I do not care for him. Why should I? If anyone can find one simple reason why then go for it. Sam has a firm hold on me though: so I highly doubt your point will be of any significance to me anyway.