HOPE.

Hoping my fairy godmother would come up to me with a large bottle of wine and cheer me up. And maybe stay around a while. But fairytales ain't real.

I ain't the little asshole I used to be.
You gave me these wounds, marked the bruises.
I'd do anything to go back in time,
we'd never met if that be possibly possible.
But past can't come back either such as life.
I won't ever again be the one who dream that.

Hoping some real, bone-meat friend would unmagically appear with some cheetos and tell me some story I don't wanna here. And stay around for a while. But friends ain't real sometimes, either. GCA.