How to watch your dreams fall apart.

I decided I wanted to write in 4th grade. 

We'd write those stories about what would happen if you were at school and you open a door and there was a skeleton in there. And I'd take them up to my teacher for grading and she'd tell me how wonderful it was. And everyone on my group table would get B's and I'd always have an A. I remember feeling so good and wanting to show everyone. And then I won the Young Authors award. I went to the convention thing and loved every second and decided that I needed to keep writing. I knew I was good at it. 

So from then on when people asked what I wanted to do, my answer was write. 

It even feels good to say. People ask what I'm majoring in and  when I say, "creative writing," itjust feels good. It rolls of the tongue so well.  

And I undeniably am passionate about it. Because nothing in the entire world feels better than writing something I'm proud of. 

But here I am. 

One step away from not writing in this blog anymore. 

It feels like I'm holding on to a worthless dream. 

Because, really, who cares?
I'll never be like Gala Darling. I don't have enough time. Or passion. Or knowledge. And I'm not a fashion blogger. And let's face it, only fashion bloggers get big. 

I just don't have that. 

I'm just a girl sitting on a bed who cries too much and can't let go of the past and sometimes blogs about it. Hoping that someone else needs to read what I have to write. 

And it's just a dream. 

A dream that I lack ability to make come true.