There’s no aesthetic in an uneven life, no amount of good karma could ever make it right. I’m sad to say that I’m alone, I fear I always will be. I can’t keep up with my own mind, can’t focus on my intentions. My daughter brings me all the joy I experience in my life, so I’ve forgotten who I am outside of being a mother. There’s worse things in life, this I know, but I miss having friends, having fun, going out alone. There’s not a soul that I can confide in, I mistake my mother for the one I’ve always wanted. With every word I tell her, it feeds her ammo, and she shoots me down until she knows I’m weakened, can’t get up from the ground. I hope that I was wrong, that there’s much more to life, than all this misery, pain, and strife.