All I want in life is to get to the end of it. I know that life should be about the journey, about living the hardest you can, reaping as much of the benefits from our short trip here as possible, and then passing away, but that’s not what I want. I just want to know how my story ends. I want to know how I cope with my troubles, or if I can. I want to know if I get married, have kids, where I’ll live. The thought of growing old excites me, because it means that I’ll be far away from all the shit that I’ve gone through, and further away from the people that cause it.
I dress older than I should, talk older than I should, think older than I should, and date much younger than I should. You’d think that eventually, the fact that I’m 18 would be enough solace by now to make me grateful I’ve lived this long, but it’s untrue. I resent my life and most likely take for granted the good things in my life so better writhe about the bad things. All I want is to someday wake up, put on my boat shoes, look at myself in the mirror, and be 40. Until then, I’ve got quite a while to go, but I suppose in this case, I’ll be patient.
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