Every time I mess up, it feels like I’m setting another fire on my dignity. On my soul. On everything. It makes me feel like I can’t do anything right with parents like mine. A bad score on a test or hitting the wrong note on the piano. It can be anything at anytime. And I can feel it. See it. See the flame all around me like in inside of a burning house walking through the smoke trying to break free of the flame of failure. It’s unbearable. I wish I could just run away forever. So I never have to worry so I never have to feel the pain I do everyday. Not only the mental pain but the physical pain too. The pain of my fingers stretching to each note on the piano or the cramps in my hands as I write letter after letter. And the mental pain. The pain my parents put on me to do good every single day. When I know deep down that I will never be as good as they want me to. But as everyday comes and as everyday goes I always remember that someday in the future I will move out. Drop out of collage and become one of those granola hippy girls that live off the tree nuts and granola bars. Someday.