Five Minutes.

Sometimes your [20-something] and standing in the kitchen of your [apartment or] house, making breakfast and [maybe] brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to [school or] work and [doing everything you need to do that day], and also more exciting things like books you [may be reading], and trips you want to go on, and relationships that are springing into existence, or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your own skin or in your house and you just want to go home but “Mom [and Dads]” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else but just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person make you feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over, the coffee’s done. You’re going to breath in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.

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