Yesterday I could have chosen to take that plane, go far from home and miss them. I would have probably been depressed for about two weeks, and then would have gotten out there, and discover Paris. Then I'm sure I would have worked and studied the language, then I would have met Richard, a mediocre American poet trying to fulfill his dream, the I would have madly fallen in love with him, I would have reached the idea of even marrying him, then the charm would have faded. And after a few years of working in a caffe, my paintings would have started selling and then I would be friends with snob artist in all France. I would have become famous for a while and live in the vices, just to them hit buttom rock. In rehab I would have met another painter named Tousant, I would have liked him and slowily and by little steps start to love him. We would have lived together in Nantes, have a child ad grow old together, of that I'm sure.

But I didn't, I missed the flight, not because I rejected Tousant or any of my fame, it's not to avoid the whole heroine adict part. I just chose not to, as I rather choose to stay here, home. And here I will end up being an art teacher, and I will never even consider drugs, not a chance. I also know I will end up marrying my highschool sweetheart and that then he will cheat and we'll be divorced. And I know all these things, yet I choce this. And so I wonder, is me from another universe, the one who chose to go to France wondering as well why did she choose that instead of this?

[You were digging, you don't know this, and I'm aware you didn't know this, but you were digging, and then you hit the chest without feeling so. And I'm sorry I was so selfish as noty to tell you so, I just wasn't ready t tell you the whole treasure part was only hype]
By I'm the penguin