A million different things to write, a million different ways to write them.
Who said that writing was easy?
I realize that if I really want to write more, I just have to start.
I am nervous,
Hopefully I just remember to pay attention to the smaller details.
It’s not that I was worried,
I was worried.
Impending doom of sharing with the people around you,
It just seemed like no one really cared.
Putting yourself out there is never too easy,
When I’m still in a rough state and I know I can be improved.
Death is something that we have to come to terms with at a point,
or at least, that’s how I try to live.
But hey,
I’m still learning i guess.
But that thought sounds stupid and dumb.
I must live everyday as if it were my last
Sometimes things just really aren’t meant to be.
I was mortified.
Loving like it was my last
I felt so stupid, like such an idiot.
Working like it was my last
Why'd I push myself so far?
Living like it was my last
Self-deprecating attitudes
It was fine. I’m okay. Everything’s okay, I just needed to breathe and relax a little.
show you’re not in full self-control
forgetting what his conscience was attempting to tell him
I started crying
I wanted to share it with you.
I still felt horrible.
A million thoughts flooded my head while my world came crashing to the floor
It’s not inherently a bad thing
It can become a bad thing
it'll probably all be okay though
Everyone in this town one day dies, and the seasons continue to change,
life’s cycle presses on.                     life’s cycle presses on.
life’s cycle presses on.