Sometimes it's 4 a.m. when I go fumbling in the dark for my keys, my hoodie, my smokes. I'm not awake, or I've been awake for only a matter of moments. A few, but enough. I have to get out of here before the walls start to fall in, before the ceiling collapses, before I start to cry. I can't cry in here, indoors. With you still in the room. Outside. Back stairs. Morning air.

Sometimes it's Tuesday. I can see the stars through the trees as they lose their leaves. I head for the park. I cross the bridge, I think about throwing myself in the river. But what would that solve... I'm an excellent swimmer. And I don't want to die, dying isn't the goal, it never has been. I run down the path, and towards the wooded area where I can hide.

I wish I could tell you what I'm running from. I wish I could tell me. You've asked before. I hid my eyes and changed the subject. Yes, this is uncomfortable for me. Yes, this hurts. No, I don't want to talk about it. This is how things are. And, I know you don't believe. Please don't ever start to believe me. One of these days I'll agree with you and be able to move forward. It's just not right now. Not at 4 a.m.