Everyone else cries over boys or girls and broken hearts. That’s why I lay awake at night. It’s a feeling world. A world so messed up. And I can’t catch it’s imperfectous beauty on my pages. How can I write about the beauty of true pain when I feel nothing? I need an adventure. Who will carry me away when I promise there is nothing out there for me? Who will convince me I’m right? Who will give me my power to create? I miss it. I want to make a mistake so I can gave that back?
That’s why I lay awake at night.
