For once, I don't want love.
I want flings.
I'm young and reckless, and I'm going to live up to that damn name.
No more falling in love.
No more Ms. Nice Girl.
None.
My sole purpose from here on out is to have fun while I still fucking can.
I'm tired of my depression and anxiety.
I'm fucking done with panicking.
Go ahead, say I'm stupid, and that I'm only going to regret it.
But who will regret more?
The one who fooled around and got in trouble, but has plenty of experiences and stories to tell?
Or the one who kept themselves in a cage when the door was wide fucking open?
You choose, honey.
