What would be left behind?
A bunch of unfinished stories that I wanted to see make it onto Netflix. Papers filled with ideas and regrets. Little notebooks filled with miscellaneous items like my day to day routine or what I ate that day.
I will leave behind garbage that will only have meaning to me. I never did buy a house or a brand new car. I never did see any of my plans comes into fruition like I thought they would.
There won’t be millions of people that know my name or know what I have done. I will be gone like my great-great grandfather never to be talked about with the future generations. Only as a warning, to not end up like me.
Rain falling down to an already filled lake, I won’t make much of an impact.
How many times can you write about being leaving before you realize that you are creating a self fulfilling prophecy. Tomorrow when you go to sleep, things will change and so will you.
You can live for so many years, don’t you want to see how long you can make it through.
So that’s it’s. You’re just going to leave.
I don’t know. I think…
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