I find myself questioning the idea of San Antonio after an unpleasant night at the Blue Star Complex. Everything I found annoying about SA was found there.
I want to write a short story by this Friday so it'll be potentially included in my college's literary magazine, but I'm not sure if I can. It's a touchy subject.
There are some days that you know you'll look back upon and realize that you screwed up some aspect that day. I understand that promises can be broken against your means--against your best intentions--and even with some share of guilt, those days can be mended. Mended with apologies, with written words as such, with kind gifts sent via costly UPS.
What can I do? When the bird's got to die? What can I do? When she's too weak to fly? What can I do--? When she's calling my name, She's crying: 'Mama, help me to live!'