"Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run"

Now, when I cry, it feel like I'm doing it because I should. Like I should get it out of my system.
I've shut down the part of me that cared about him. I avoid thinking about my old home, my old life, my city, my streets. Try to focus on the green grass underneath my feet, the 80s club night in Gothenburg, the wine by the sea, the universities in other countries.
I can feel the stress of what I should do pile up inside of me. I should do so very much... I should apply for schools, jobs, flats. I should know what I want to do, who I want to be. I should act my age and not ten years younger. Maybe I should find a nice guy, a decent job, a home and start a family. Get a car, a garden, a pet. Catch up with my friends who have children and husbands.
Or maybe I should say screw it all and move to a new city, go dancing, drinking, laughing, crying. Find a new love every week and squeeze the most out of my 20's.
Both options have some appeal. Neither one feels right.
So what the hell.
It must start to make sense eventually? Until then I might enjoy the sunshine, have a glass of red and flirt shamelessly with strangers (and cry myself to sleep as I'm mourning the loss of a life).