Bits of purple confetti cloud your vision. A vision bright and steadfast; you are the Grand Dreamer. Your aspirations fill up all of the plastic in the room. Your lungs hold an impenetrable ambition that you exhale into the atmosphere.
But all you can think about is dying from starvation, and you’re not even actually starving. All you can think about is the ocean, and drowning in it because you wish you were so thin that the waves sucked you under and never let you breathe again.