Pseudonymous enough? Whatev.

Every statement is a promise.

“I’m awake.” That’s a promise. “Where’s my phone?” That’s a promise too; I promise whomever is hearing that I am looking for my phone. Every time I open my mouth, that’s a promise. So when I tell the world I hate making promises the only one I’m fooling is me.

But I do hate making promises. And I hate breaking them. And I keep doing it over and over again.

I will never grow up. I will always be a disappointment. A curse on every single soul trying to depend on me, for their lives will forever be miserable. So long as they depend upon me.