"Maternal love."

Go ahead, tell me it's impossible. Tell me that I'm going to fail, and that even more then failing people will point and laugh and I will lose and friendship or self respect that I ever had.
And yet, I'm going to wad cotton in my ears and hum a little and not listen to your poison.
Deep down you're jealous, you see me so close to things you dreamed about once. And maybe I will fail, and in five years, ten years I'll end up sleeping on an old mat in some alleyway; trying to convince strangers that I didn't drink myself into this condition.
But in failing, at least I will know that I'm alive.