Over the past 52 years, I've tried to change the damaged parts within my character.
Believe me, I've tried.
I never understand the reasoning of smugness, balancing, and enduring.
Until you showed like a dream from far, you were so unique, so breathtaking, and so modest.
Honey, you were too late, my book almost finished, no place for added poems, passion, or happy endings.
That empty page supposed to combine with my dark vision.
My book needed a dark soul.
Over the past 52 years, I've tried to change the damaged parts within my character.
But, I never succeeded.