Very few understand the importance of escaping

Thinking of it only as moving

Eighteen years in any place is enough to drive anyone crazy

In my opinion

And when my skin is itching in the middle of the night to get out

And music blasts through my ears, making me feel so much more alive than breathing ever will

And I'm bombarded with images of bright lights and shiny cars and the unadulterated youth that's wasted on me

I feel simultaneously guilty and wronged at having been missing out

All this time

Because that's all I've been doing

In my opinion.

And it worries me that even when I achieve it all--

The independence, the location, the city at my every beck and call and the purpose in my step--

That the old feelings may uprise again, making me sick of it all

Yes, eighteen years there sounds like a dream to me...

Now.

But would it be enough to drive me--or anyone--crazy?

Am I sentenced to wander nomadically, settling down in unsettling periods?

And if I were to ever begin longing for a place like this one again,

Open field by sprawling suburb by yet another public school,

Well, that would be the scariest thing of all,

In my opinion.

Only I worship the importance of escaping.