penny for your thoughts, but a dollar for your insights...

"is everything off the table now?"

i knew he meant it in more than one way.

jump to me telling you i didn't want to save people with a scalpel anymore.

jump to the crestfallen look on your face, quickly masked with a weak smile.

"oh, so you want to...write?"

fuck, sorry mom.
sorry, god.
sorry.

jump to the first and only C(+) on my report card.
"you FAILED?!?"
"a C is not a fail, mom."
jump to me sobbing.
jump to the teacher saying that really, it was nothing. really, i just need to speak up in class.
jump to me never shutting up in class again.


"i can't do math for shit, mom."
"that's bull shit. your gifted, for christ's sake."
everything i hate about math, i hate about you.
the stupid logic. the answer is right or wrong.
black or white.
and i've been getting a lot of wrong answers lately.

i write with my heart but i fight with my head.

the only failure i could go through is failing you again.

and by then, i'll probably be dead anyways.