Blurb #1:

I make bad decisions. And yes, you may say, “everyone makes mistakes, Oakley,” but there is a difference between mistakes, and bad decisions.

Making a bad decision could be a mistake, yes, but it could also lead to happy endings in the end. Bad decisions can have good outcomes, but mistakes lead you to failure. Mistake means, “to be wrong about” but a bad decision means, “doing something against your instincts or senses and deciding to do something you probably shouldn't”

but the biggest difference between the two is that a bad decision has one special part mistake doesn't,

“probably.”

A mistake was undoubtedly wrong. utterly, and entirely.

But probably is one of the most risky things you can listen to. There is a chance that it might end positive, but there is also a bigger chance that it will end negatively. Probably leans toward one side more than the other. But that doesn't change the fact that there is still a chance. Does it matter how big the risk is? Or how small the chances are?

Bad decisions are one of the best things that exist. Or at least I think so. But I also over think things hundreds of times in my head until everything fits together in the perfect puzzle. But my picture looks strange to most everybody else, but it makes sense to me. And that's what matters. Right?

I didn't always think things through like my life depended on just one question, no matter how pointless. I used to be innocent. See the best in everybody. My biggest worry would be fighting with my sister, or failing a science test.

Maybe that's where I will start. When I was innocent and happy. Even if I didn't think so at the time. Just three days before.

.-.-.

blurb #2)

(No the two are not related)

I try not to look at myself in the mirror. To see the scars there. I'll turn my back to my reflection to avoid seeing what's there. Reflections are so cruel. They help me make sure I never forget what happened.

Every scar holds a memory. Each And every one. Telling the story of a little kid falling on the sidewalk and cutting his knee, or things that happened when the doors were shut.

Your reflection does a very good job at reminding you that no one could ever find you desirable. But at the same time, if I ever find someone who could love me, I could never love myself enough to make it healthy. I would hurt that person more than I could ever help them. And that hurts me. I feel like no matter what I do, I always end up hurting someone. Which ends in me getting hurt too. Pain is everywhere. But it seems to cling to me. Sometimes, I feel like I've healed, like the cuts never happened. Kind of like when you get a paper cut and you don't even notice that it's there until you rub hand sanitizer all over it, and it stings bad enough it's all you can think about.

I feel cursed. I know that curses are not real, but that's hard to believe sometimes. There has to be some sort of karma or punishment out there. I don't know what I did exactly, but it must have been pretty bad. Maybe I was just… born. Every day I breathe feels like some sort of betrayal.

I'm a burden. My grandparents' lives would be so much better if I just didn't exist. Maybe my father’s life would have been too. My mother’s. I feel like if I was never born, my mother wouldn't have the scars she did. My father never would have given them. That's the past, and the past cant be changed, no matter how many “maybe’s” or, “what ifs” my dull brain can come up with.

I find myself looking into my reflection's eyes as I think. Even with all of these thoughts, not a single tear fell. Maybe I'm out. I haven't cried since I moved in with my grandparents. I think of it as a talent. You can beat me down over, and over again. But it doesn't mean you get to see the effect it has on me.

My eyes find my scars. My flaws. My story.