readers

the truth is even i keep myself from saying i should write for myself, i found myself coming back for you. the more i swear to write for myself, the more i see myself considering your side. maybe he was right. stories are meant to be read. letters are meant to be delivered. movies are meant to be watched.

so why are you hiding your magic? he asked. i pretend i didn’t hear him. i can see he just let me slip it this time. i don’t want to be questioned by my decision. so i folded my ears, closed my eyes. i don’t want to hear nor see how selfish am i right now. instead, i answer him: i first need to find myself; this isn’t me now. but what the hell? where do i found myself now?

i found myself coming back for you. and that is a pure shit.