Maybe I care too much, or maybe too little. I don't know, I can't quite figure it out.

When I was young I thought of myself as the hero of the story. Twists and turns and getting older.

I am the villain in my own story now, even though I have the best of intentions.

Addiction is a hell of a thing.

But I'll dig and claw and scratch my way out of this hell, this hole.

If indecision cripples your mind, you'll have no choice but to

Forgive and forget. But what is the point in the end?

When it seemed like we never had a chance at being anything more than stuck here in this situation, it created something beautiful, because we knew we never had a goddamed choice.

The fear of the past leads a life of nothing worth living, and the dread of the future clings to my throat.

Maybe one day we'll meet. Just a casual head nod of acknowledgement and admiration.

I'd like to....hope.

Maybe.