Sometimes.

I,

Just wing everything. Flying by the seat of my pants, as they say.

I want to go to South America.

Or I just want to leave here.



This life seems old. Slow. Stale.

I
Just
want
to
tear the wings off butterflies.


I think I want to be cliché and be a doctor in some poor country. And help the children. My current contribution just seems so damn insignificant. One child. Out of how many?

I also don't think writing letters to my sponsor child would serve any purpose but to inflict guilt.


Sometimes its good to fail. To try, and fail. Just to know what I can't achieve.

H.