I remember everything so vividly I'm back there once more, and I live it again: one hour in a flash, then three seconds, three seconds, one second - a story that was lived in days, relived like lightning.
And then I'm back. In my room. On my bed. A newspaper-cutting world that's more unreal than dreams.
And then I'm really back, and I think, if only...
The truth is that I'm only as stuck as I want to be. I don't hate the situation, but I hate that I can't bring myself to do anything about it. The truth is that I can't lose what I don't have.