Everyone who’s passed through my life leaves me with a song. It was never meant for me, but it doesn’t mean I can’t feel it and sing along.
Don’t you hate it when you’re sad and people tell you: “Don’t be sad.”
Like, dude, I’m sad not because you want me to be sad. I’m sad because stupid things happen, and that makes me sad.
Today, I had dinner with a really nice guy. Like two adults, we talked about our life goals. There were 6 things I was looking for–yes, I made a list, had it printed out and tucked away in my phone case. But when he asked, I told him only two. I wanted to be healthy and I wanted to make it as a writer and that was all. The other four, I couldn’t tell him. The truth is I hadn’t been able to tell anyone. There is something about admitting to what you want that makes you feel so vulnerable. Isn’t the more you want, the weaker you get? Would people make fun of me, the oh so needy and desperate?