Fire's a beautiful sound.

I looked around today and found that my life is in shambles. It's fallen apart to unmanageable pieces that I'm too lazy to pick off my carpet and set right. So what if I burned it all? I'll strike a match, watch the flames engulf my life. I want to start afresh from ashes, but I'm no phoenix.
So I have to work with what I have, but how many tomorrows can I push my dreams to? There's an end to tomorrows. There's an end to opportunity, and a time where I will step in the land of 'it's too late'.
I can already see my future. I'm a dreamer, and the gilded life I fantasize about will only exist in the caverns of my mind. One day, I'll wake up old, worn out, and it'll be too late. Too late... I'll doom myself to the hell of 'coulda, woulda, shoulda'.
My stepdad talked to me about the centralized idea of business. The first question a business owner should ask is 'Who am I?' The next question is 'What is my destination?'
Who am I?
I'm just a girl who's too lazy and too scared to live life. I reside inside my mind, spinning letters into golden stories. That's how I live. I sustain myself on fantasies, on my imagination. My characters are the only things I have control over in my life. I can make them do what I can't. I create new worlds to explore. I create makeshift love for them so I can have a taste of what it feels like. It's love without heartbreak. It's perfect. I take risks without taking them. I live without living.
What is my destination?
I want to be a writer. I want so much money I can spread them into acres and acres of Benjamin Franklin. I want gold enough to swim in, clothes enough to warm the entire world, shoes enough to walk to Mars. I want to taste the world. I want to feel the caress of Africa. I want to smell the exquisiteness of Europe. I want to stoke every blade of grass and tread every road. I want to stand on the peak of Mt. Everest and scream out my lungs, then pass out from the thin air up there.

I think I'll never achieve my dreams.
I'll never become a real writer because once I close my stories with 'the end', I'm too frightened to send them off for publishing. I don't know why, and I can't explain it. I've only sent it once. It wasn't hard. I got rejected, but I don't mind. So it's not rejection that I fear. I don't know what I'm so afraid of.

I've made a list of publishers to send Ilia too. Maybe I'll start there. Maybe from this second of this day, I'll take one tentative step towards my dream. I'll just tell myself there's nothing to be petrified about.