There are so many things I want to do within the next ten years, and every single night, I end up alone, with a glass of scotch, thinking about where I am right now, where I should be, and where I’ll end up. I’ve come to the healthy conclusion that I was once convinced that I was in love, and now, after two years, I sit on my now-boyfriends’ couch, all alone realizing that I was never in love with the man I was convinced stole my heart and took it all the way to New York City. The love I had was to the one person who I knew, deep down cared for me more than anyone, and of whom I denied until this very day. I’m unhappy with my life, my relationship, my location, and my luck, but that remainder isn’t keeping me down, because I know, that once I decide to get my bony ass off of someone else’s couch and buy a god damned plane ticket, everything will be anew, and I’ll be able to finally start my actual life, not the one that I’ve kept ahold of, like a childhood memory that won’t leave my mind. The new years is coming up, and I know exactly what the resolutions are going to be, and believe me when I say that a year from now, I’ll be able to say that things are looking up, and I’ll be slowly, but surely, blossoming into the one flower I knew I always intended to be. But until then, the scotch is staying, and so are the other handful of vices that next year won’t depend on. I care for myself more than anyone else does, and hopefully, that alone will make these minimalist dreams come true. I’ll regret this post in the morning.

5:22 am  •  29 November 2009  •  1 note