And I’m going to document how I feel about it.
This is a weird one.
Typically my cousin and I share what we’re working on and we critique and encourage each other.
It just seems off. To start with my story was inspired by a nightmare I had and in the process of writing it, it has turn into a near retelling of Breakfast at tiffany’s with references to Frederico Fellini. I also have been only listening to Drake’s new album. It’s safe to say I’m in a weird headspace.
It seems almost too personal to share, not that its like a journal. I wrote nearly 8,000 words last night. You don’t pour out that many words without having some serious stuff to get off your chest. Sometimes that stuff isn’t too relatable and should be kept close. The more you reveal about yourself, the more people think they know about you, and most of the time, they are always wrong.
What business do I have giving two people that would never work a happy ending?
Do they even exist? I don’t think so.
Here I am, working to build a business, married, alone.
If anyone could have a happy ending, it should be me. I work for it every day and I’ve never felt more rejected, unloved. So am I just supposed to pretend that there’s a better life for me out there, write it into my stories and be satisfied with that? Or can I take charge of my life? I don’t know anymore.
Perhaps my hopes are just going to stay just that. No changing the world. No saving the world. No true love story. Just pretending.
Pretending that THIS is the dream. That this is the story. Even my dreams aren’t perfect.
Do I deserve a happy ending, even in my dreams? Do any of us?