This is a picture I did not take
of a girl walking away from the World of Tomorrow,
dressed in blacks and rubbing the tears from her eyes.
She will not see this Tomorrow tomorrow.

This is a picture I did not take
of a girl trotting to catch a bus at 5 in the morning,
realizing that even the sunrise is beautiful in this place.
She stepped on the bus and missed the eclipse.

This is a picture I did not take
of a girl sprinting into a movie theatre to see a film,
unlike she wanted, with a boy that she desperately did.
She got both, and liked the movie more.

This is a picture I did not take
of a girl staring up into the night sky to hear of wishes,
with tears in her eyes as she longed to never grow up.
She was later told she seemed older afterwards.

This is a picture I did not take
of a girl looking down and noticing the hop scotch drawn,
while children passed without playing and she longed to.
She was pulled along and told not to look back.

This is a picture I did not take
of a girl who happened to be genuinely happy for a long,
long time, while she complained about her surroundings.
She realized while there was only one day left

That she should have taken more pictures.

Just like a paper tiger, torn apart by idle hands.

I'm so tired of feeling like this.

I've never been one to act like this.
I'm crying at stupid things that never happened and now won't ever happen.

I don't even have anything to worry about.
I'm somehow in this weird limbo.

My life is wonderful.
My life sucks.

Every line so far started with I, I'm or my. I'm the most self centered person in the world.
NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, SUZANNE.

Fucking learn that before you push everyone away.
You're already doing a good job.



I will not be the girl stuck at home in the 'burbs
with the baby, the dog and the garden of herbs
I will not be the girl in the sensible shoes
pushing burgers and beer nuts and missing the clues
I will not be the girl who gets asked how it feels
to be trotting along at the genius' heels
I will not be the girl who requires a man to get by.

Walking in the Garden.
Comfy Cuddle Couch.

Kid.

Hm.

How long is six years, anyway?

When does a stage kiss turn into a real kiss?
How well do we really act?



Okay, Perfect, come be mine.
Do I want the dancer or the beat?

I'll walk these boards
I'll read these lines
I'll cry a little bit
I'll pretend that audiences
aren't full of utter shit.
I'll act my best
I'll wait behind
I'll emote like the rest
I'll try to find some love for you
and act that you're the best.