Not going to lie. I wish to be in some city. Twenty five. Lonely. There is something about being by yourself. You see the world completely different. Focus on yourself. Your dreams. Your well-being. I wish I was sitting in a small coffee shop I can call mine while sipping on the perfect brown cup of magic. Rain coming down. I can hear it hitting the window. Pen in my hand, paper in front of me. Endless opportunities. The city. So full of life, love, inspiration. It will all be there. In the peoples smiles. The children's  laughter. I want that life. But, here I am sitting in a house. Twenty. In love. I'm going to classes like I know what I want. I don't. I don't want this anymore. I've already spent two years of my life pursuing this so called dream. It's not the dream at all anymore. 
Ask me. I dare you. I won't have an answer. 
All I know is that I want to write. Daily. Nightly. For myself and for others. I just want to make a difference. With my words. 
Two years. I already gave two years to something I not longer want. I'm lost. Not sure which direction I am supposed to go now. 
Either direction I choose I'll be letting someone down. Maybe even myself. I started something. So, I should finish it right? It all feels wrong though. I feel like I should be doing what I truly want. Go. Travel, experience. Find new things to love. To be passionate about. New things to put down on paper. 

Write. Write. Write. 
That is all I want to do. My life now is nothing like I wish my life to be like. I see something completely different than what I'm going after. 
I wish I could go back and change my mind sooner rather than later. I want to be twenty-five. Living in the city, drinking coffee, and doing the one thing I know I love more than thing else. Writing.