'ive tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone. but tho ur still with me, i've been alone all along.

i find myself in class, or at the kitchen table, my bedroom, the car, anywhere, sitting with my eyes closed. I have such a clear picture of life and how it used to be that i can make any situation i am in move to england. like i was sitting with my head on the table listening to my parents talk. i figured it out, i was sitting at the end of my kitchen in england, my back to the west wing and my dads office, to my left wasthe fireplace, to my right was the rest of the kitchen, ahead of my was the dresser. i know u r all probably sick of me ramble on about england. but its gotten worse. its like a dream. i know i have to move on, but i dont want to forget. i dont even have a proper accent to remind myself. ive come to terms with the fact that my acent is staying this way, stuck in the middle. anyways, i was in the car this afternoon and i made myself belive i was on the motorway headed towards stratford, and that any moment i would see sandbarn cottage rising over the trees. i didnt. even so, when we pulled into the driveway of 857 malcolm avenue i nearly heard the crunching of gravel under the car wheels. its one of the worst disappointments to convince yourself you are going back in time, but only find yourself going forward.