I prefer the swamp.

I was about to start complaining, but there's rain, and there's thunder. And it's hard to complain about anything when there's rain and there's thunder.

My eyes droop harder than they used to at this hour of night. It makes me reminiscent about a time when sleeping was for the weak, a time when home was where I landed, a time when time meant nothing... nothing at all. Now I am weak. Now I prefer to land where my bed is, and my bed is at home. Now time means everything. So my eyes droop. They droop, and they remember.

Some things don't change though. Like my room. I still can't seem to keep a tidy room. I can keep a tidy home. I can keep a tidy classroom. But not my bedroom. That... that becomes a haven for all the messy thoughts in my head to spill out onto the carpet. And it's pretty messy in my head.

And I want to go walk in the rain right now, but I'm a chicken because I know it's cold. And I want to tell every person I meet that I love them, because I love every person I meet. And I want to tell every boy that I have a crush on him, because I have a crush on every boy. And I want to take every dog home with me. And I want to be 12 years old again, like I was last year and the year before that and the year before that and the year before that. And I want to ride my bike through the rain so the water hits me in the back, because I'm not nearly sophisticated enough to have wheel covers. And I want to ride down a hill as my shoes skid across the sidewalk. And I want everything to slow down just a little bit.