Cheyenne's Journal
12-5-11
Trevor is such a bad kid. He drinks, dips, smokes, fucks... I'm really no better, though, I guess. He keeps asking me what's been wrong with me these past few days.... Over the weekend, I just kept seeing us as this silly, pretend fairy tale. What if it is? What happens to my promise ring? Zane Dante Zago? Emma Nicole Zago? Catherine Cheyenne Zago? And our house in Jackson? And the first and only love? What about "true" love? Would we still talk, text, see each other?
What about me?
Who would I become?
Everything I start, I never finish, like learning guitar. Nothing ever truly happens. Nothing is real. Like that stupid purse, or how we've said all these years that we're gonna clear room in the garage for Courtney so I can have my own room. Blah! Blah! Blah!
Oh, and Mom and I were going to fix my bookshelf.
Everything in my life is words without intent.
Always expect the worst.
What about me?
Who would I become?
Everything I start, I never finish, like learning guitar. Nothing ever truly happens. Nothing is real. Like that stupid purse, or how we've said all these years that we're gonna clear room in the garage for Courtney so I can have my own room. Blah! Blah! Blah!
Oh, and Mom and I were going to fix my bookshelf.
Everything in my life is words without intent.
Always expect the worst.