I’ve become 18 recently. I’m an adult now. You wouldn’t say. It’s like I remain the same person throughout all these years. I don’t change.
That means that I never become a happy teenager. Have I ever told you that? I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone. Should I throw it on the Internet then? Maybe not. Maybe I should be smart and leave you in peace now, and don’t pretend to write a letter that’s worth the name ‘literature’.
What reason do I have to be a not-happy teenager? I’m young and vital and I’ve got a home and a family and everything. (I even have a cat) Yet, I complain.
That’s not completely true. I do complain (dear lord yes!), but I never complain about what bothers me mostly when something is bothering me.
There are other things that bother me too, such as my finger that was hurt today. Now it’s swollen and less useful.
I’m at the point of saying things I should not say on the Internet. I will now stop myself before I start to regret. ‘Cause I easily regret.
After all, I’m acting pathetically, but I believe I can do that, every now and then. Let me at least post this song, and the next post, I promise, will be a lot happier.
Thank you, dear someone,