I'll go
You're all killing me. I know I don't fit in, I don't belong. I'm different. I know this. You don't decide who I am. What's right for me; how I live my life. You want me around, though; you'll have something to talk about that way. I'll go away. Go back to the place I call home. 1,195 miles away from this. Somewhere I'll fit in, somewhere I'll belong. And you wont miss me. You'll have someone new to talk about then. But I'll still miss you... because we used to be friends. Before you decided I was something to talk about, we were friends. I'll miss that.