Wandering the street aimlessly I felt so alone. The cool wind was numbing, the coldest November in a while. The streets were full of leaves, dead, and every afternoon swept away. Is that what our lives were like? We just hang on our whole life only to die and get every memory of us swept away?

Next year I'm going to leave this town, I'll get as far away as possible.

Everyone says it, but who really means it? I do, not just for some cliché storyline, but for everything. Everywhere I look unpleasant memories linger. Too many people know things they just…shouldn't. I've grown up and changed, not its time to leave…just leave everything behind. I wont ever be happy until im left with nothing. Its time to live.