I can never explain why I feel bad. The hurtness comes out in words which don’t mean a thing. Most of the time it isn’t even a rational pain, just a strange feeling, like someone’s slowly squeezing my neck. Not like being strangled, just a lump that grows bigger inside my throat and won’t go away.
And I start howling if people try to be kind. Which is just sad when you’re supposed to be all grown-up and mature and responsible.
And I hate the word responsibility.

To be honest tonight I hate a lot of things. Including my memories of four and a half years. It’s not an easy feeling, the hurtness and the hateness which comes from love gone wrong.

When people call college a second home, half the time it’s an overdose of sentiment. The other half of the time they actually do spend more time in college than they spend awake at home. I’ve always called campus my first home. It’s not something my parents have ever been happy about. It just is that way.
Or rather was.

I don’t love you anymore. You were home but you’re not anymore. You’re just this fucked up place and I don’t wanna go back to you.
I thought I’d miss you when I left.
I won’t.
I doubt I’ll even remember you.
Right now the happy thought in my life is that I have barely two months left.
Afterwards I’ll concentrate on forgetting.