Sitting at LAX waiting for our flight home. I'm totally empty, no energy left in my body. I must look like shit. You could pack enough to run from your problems forever in the bags under my eyes. I'm sitting near people in suits with briefcases. It's Friday. Maybe they're headed home from a business trip. The older woman next to me looks upset at how disheveled I am. She can see the dirt under my fingernails. The stains on the only pair of shorts I own. Part of me feels like I'm going to collapse when I land in Philly. Maybe I've been the one running away from my problems. I've been going so hard for weeks now. No time to think. Too tired at night to do anything but sleep - too tired to feel anything. I've been numbing myself in the Pacific and I still ache. It still hurt but it felt a little removed. Like it was someone else's pain and now it'll be real. When I touchdown in Philly it'll be my pain again.