I cried today.

I cried in a real way.

I cried in the way where you stay in bed for most of the day and watch TV for the longest time in months.

I cried in the way where the tears actually fall down your face and your mouth turns down and your fists clench and your vision is blurred by the power of your sorrow.

I cried in the way where even when I did it, and did it again, and did it again later, I didn’t feel done.

I cried in front of my parents, I cried to them, which is something I never do.

I cried because I am a terrible writer, because nobody likes my book, because my book isn’t a book at all, it’s just a listing that you can’t even find on Amazon that nobody even likes.

I cried because the boy I love, the boy I’ve been looking for forever

No, wait, he’s so imperfect and we’re too different

Anyways I love him and he’s miles away and we’re doomed to be even further away than we are now. But he’s already out of my reach.

I cried because I feel this need, this pressure, to do everything and accomplish everything and it’s hard to let go of the safety net that is perpetual self-disappointment.

I cried because I can’t write even though I want to, so bad, because at some point I started writing for other people, or believed I was, when all I’ve ever needed to do is write for myself.

I cried because I hate this life and job and world that I’m stuck in, the one I can’t change, and the one where all I do is stall.