i’m sitting here with a warm fragrant candle beside me, the heater on, and a magazine huddle to my chest, and i am in the mood to write.

there was a strange boy in my dream, and i loved him. and maybe i have these dreams because of the book that i had just finished. maybe one day i will meet him. or maybe one day you’ll come back. and tell me where i went wrong and give me a second chance. it’s so much to ask, i know. but I’m trying to dream big.

sadness is aging me. and it’s difficult… i don’t know if this sadness is superficial. i just feel like i’m leading this ordinary life when i’m more than that. i feel like i could do better. i feel like i am invincible but haven’t dared to test that out.

there are so many words i have left unsaid, so how do i go collecting them now? they’ve fallen into the air, been carried away by breaths sucked in, and cries heard out loud. they are scattered and everywhere like the strands of hair that have left my head and now occupy these streets, these trees, this water, this world.

tell me how to find myself.

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