here is something
You worry about me. Well, I worry about myself. I scare myself sometimes with the decisions I make which is I why I want to talk to you about them. I want you to tell me I’ll be OK even though I’m doing these things—that I’ll stop when I’m older or find the right person or something like that.
I know I should just stop on my own. After all, I know I’m not making right or good decisions. I should cut off contact, smile more, go home to my own bed. But instead I tell people my dreams and indulge in the worst of my life plans.
I don’t know if I want to go back.
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