i miss the days.

I miss the days. To think that this air that I breathe is not the same air as last week, or the month before, or even 8 months before, drunk off my ass walking to class. What a waste of breath. Those breaths. And now, these breaths, these breaths make my lungs ache with the thought of tomorrow. Thinking of the dreams that I own. Thinking of tomorrow as yet another opportunity to fuck up or fulfill. I want to fulfill, but I am left with the scraps of my own damn mess. I'm a failure. I'm a hothead. I'm always wrong.

Damn, Vanessa, get your life straight. Stop killing yourself. Stop fighting yourself.

Yeah, and I wish I could take my own advice.