Piles of broken toys
I hope I dream tonight. I hope I don't remember much and let my imagination fill in the blanks when I try to recount the adventures in my sleep. I pray that I'll let my deepest thoughts out without knowing that I've spoken even a single revealing word. I want someone to interpret my will from the incoherent ramblings I spew forth in excited and broken sentences. I don't want to think about what I'm saying before I speak, just let it come out in pure and uncomfortable truth. I want someone to tell me what is really going on in my life.
What do i love? What do I need? Will I ever have a happy and successful life with someone? Can I overcome my instability and my bouts self-destruction? Are my passions misdirected? Did I let her go when I should have fought? Did I fight too hard?
I could ask questions until I draw my dying breath and until someone can truly get inside my head, I have no answers. It seems like every important project that I start in my life is cast aside into a pile of half-finished endeavors, a stack of decrepit playthings I can't fix or find the heart to throw out.
What do i love? What do I need? Will I ever have a happy and successful life with someone? Can I overcome my instability and my bouts self-destruction? Are my passions misdirected? Did I let her go when I should have fought? Did I fight too hard?
I could ask questions until I draw my dying breath and until someone can truly get inside my head, I have no answers. It seems like every important project that I start in my life is cast aside into a pile of half-finished endeavors, a stack of decrepit playthings I can't fix or find the heart to throw out.