It’s 11:56 pm and I’m waking up from dreams that seem way too symbolic for me.
I’m trying to play Xbox when I know I should be writing; seems to be the only thing that comes to mind as I look for that damn controller…
It’s in the other room.
So instead I open my laptop and pour words down on keys even though there’s not much to say at this hour.
Why won’t anyone answer me back? I skim my inbox for responses toward my desperate pleas.
Maybe it’s because I keep mentioning I’m 19. That has to be it.
I don’t dare send out new ones until I build up the courage again to do so. This is a process.
Let’s face it LA doesn’t want me.
No, they wanted 2016 me, straight out of high school with a good head on my shoulders that would only survive the stardom Hollywood can bring me.
So I sit and ponder dreams I had of independence, and babies, and kittens.
With nothing to write, I find myself regurgitating words I can’t bring my mouth to say since my love is still asleep and I want to play Xbox before he wakes.
I’ll bid you all adieu with hopes you find solace in my words even if they may not mean much.
I hope life is treating you well.