Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful.
A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.
That’s when I said it. That’s when I whispered to her, “I’m so sorry.” Because inside, I felt so happy and sad at the same time. Sad that it took me so long to get there. But happy that we got there together.
As a writer, my only responsibility is to tell a compelling story.
I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.
Yes, it feels great to plan your life when you believe everything can turn out fine. But what about when you're shown, again and again, how little control you have over anything? No matter what I do to try to fix my future, it doesn't work.