I am young, but not for long

My step mother: You know, he's not a kid anymore, partying at Club 52.
Me: You mean, Studio 54?
My step mother: Yeah, whatever.

I feel like I'm on autopilot, running on empty.

I am convinced that the guy at my gas station
(the one I frequent almost daily. they all call me "red".)
is completely in love with me.
But he would never suggest anything.
It's all sort of sad, in a way.

One of my managers said I would love L.A.
This both offends and fascinates me.

My other manager says I'm a hippie.

I don't know where I belong or what I am,
but maybe someone else knows what I don't.

I've been slaving away on my ink drawings.
Granted, they are just lines, upon lines, within lines.
But I'm so happy when I'm drawing them.
Everything is linear even when it's not.

It's funny how situations and feelings erase themselves.
Everything is at the start...again.

I hate seeing people heartbroken.
It is completely disheartening.