She craves real stories. Nothing you can give her is close to reality, so she craves real stories.
All of the writers and singers and geniuses that were blessed enough to be born under the starsign of Capricorn were alcoholics with awful family lives and terrible human skills.
And since I am also a blessed Capricorn, who thinks she can write, sing, draw and paint, and I am so scared of a normal family, I think that I should start drinking, so that my dog can save me from myself when I get too caught up in these shenanigans.
My story, as I know it, might end today; my thoughts are always lost, always dirty, always mean. My life was never good enough, I was never good enough.