Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I used to go outside to breathe. Something about walking out that door and taking in the world around me, the palm trees and the sand and the breeze, would put me at peace.

    Tonight I tried to go outside to breathe and I nearly suffocated. Trapped. How is it possible that I feel more caged out of my home than inside of it? This suburbia hell, surrounded by acres of homes nearly indistinguishable from each other. There is no personality or charm here, only average people chasing the American Dream. I've never wanted to be average.

    It's amazing how much can change in a moment. The life you thought you were building was just smoke and mirrors. Perhaps I'm not destined to have what most people want. Honestly, I'm not even sure how much I want that for myself anymore. What's it all for anyway? The best part of love is in the beginning. When you can't get enough of each other, and you ache for just one more kiss, another chance to laugh together, to hold hands and look at each other the way only young lovers can. When you say too much too soon and hang all your hopes on this time. Why wasn't I paying better attention?

    I should have known something was wrong from the start, but you never want to believe that. I don't know how to fix something that was broken from the beginning. There's nothing to go back to, nothing to fondly recall while you're fighting through the tears. I have to hope that there's hope for us yet.

    Just being inside this house makes me feel nauseous, every room holds a forbidden secret. I know the secret, but I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.