Middle of July already?
I'm not really living right now, because I'm making sacrifices so that by next year my life can actually be liveable. All I do is work. I haven't left my uni accommodation since April, I am just stuck between my flat, supermarkets and my bullshit job.
Is this the price of progression?! Evidently so.
Everything is about waiting, waiting for days and events that never seem to materialise. I cannot wait to move into new accommodation come September (it's going to be an awesome studio all to myself. finally gonna be living alone again) cannot wait to have a break from this bloody job, cannot wait to quit that bloody job, cannot wait to make new friends, and travel, and go back to London and have my life back.
At some point in my life, I had everything I wanted. And then it all evaporated into nothingness. I had a decent job, my own flat, friends, a good boyfriend. I threw it all away or lost it all.
And here I am starting again. Thrown to the bottom of the mountain. And I can't even see the top down here. My hands are bruised, and I don't think I can climb anymore, climb or hold on.
Here's to waiting. Here's to waiting, and hoping that now, after some good years and bad years, we can learn from our mistakes and hopefully never make them again.
Here's to waiting for happiness.
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