I hope you don't feel this way. Ever.

 And suddenly, I'm seventeen again. 

On the cusp of adulthood, when I still feel like a child. I'm back in that old room with the small chip in the paint that I've tried to cover up with acrylic blue. Under the whirring fan, watching the sun creep in through the verandah. 

On the bed, tired, and all too hungry. Much too hungry to feel hungry. I shouldn't, so I've been told. There's no coming back from infulgence. It's better to stay empty instead, you say.

Don't bite the hand that feeds you. What if the hand that feeds you also abuses you? In ways you never knew possible.

But... it's you. I love you. I still do. I always will.

So... is this a dream or a nightmare?