To Be Continued.

“You’re eighteen, you don’t know what passion is.”
“Maybe not. But I know what inner turmoil is, and that’s close enough.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Okay. Sure. You’re right.I'm just another melodramatic teenager.”
My social anxiety disorder makes me back down. But I'm screaming a monologue in my head.