Wrong. I've always known what it's felt like to be wrong. Every twist wasn't an opening to a new horizon, it was a brick wall with a mask that laughed at you, the sound echoing in the quiet alleyway so loudly that it didn't fade from your ears for days. It was a sense of confidence being shattered into a billion pieces to be ground into nothing, overlooked and uncared for.
Someday I'd like to be right. Someday I want that pit in my stomach to flood with relief, with pride and with the knowledge that life wasn't turning around to slap me in the face. Someday I'd like to be right about something major.
Today, all I want to be right about is thinking that we're not wrong.