naive goals, and follow your dreams. a hole punched in my stomach, and what do you mean?
high hopes, and stupid ideas for a life i’ll never lead. and if this planet is on fire, what does that say about me?
’cause honey. you can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me. and someday, you’re gonna be alone in this. your parents will kick you out of the house, your friends will dump you on the ground, and then i bet you’ll have loads of fun talking about how great it is to “recover” from this.
honestly. you’re being so fucking selfish. and young lady, i really mean it. your mind is a ticking time bomb, just waiting to implode. you’re not allowed to have dreams; it doesn’t matter where you’ll go.
didn’t your mom and dad tell you this, very long ago? you can’t conjure food and water out of nothing, you know.
Oh god, have I been worrying about the future of late. I’m super tired right now so I don’t want to get into this topic in too much detail but basically: I have anxiety. And being a writer kind of has a bad reputation for not exactly being good at making money.