Where could it be? I thought. The bright lights of New York City were shining down on me, hiding my dark, depressing life consumed by pain and suffering. My apartment was up ahead, old, and dilapidated; falling apart like a sand castle, but still standing. The cedar shingles stuck up in places like wobbly teeth, and the unkempt grass was shaggy, like uncombed hair. When I reached the door, I could hear muffled voices, but all of the lights were turned off. While focusing on the tired door, it moaned open. All of my life, I had wanted to abandon everything, a hatred for my family had grown so strongly that only running away could escape me from it. I beg for pain to just let go, but it always seems to pull me back up into its painful embrace.
