Sometimes, I wonder if I was ever my own person. I feel like a gallery of unrealistic ideals painted with people's darkness. I feel like a canvas muddied by all the strokes of life. In my stubbornness or ignorance, I hold onto each shade because I would be lonely if I didn't. 

Popular posts from this blog

When someone tells you to open the door.

The Narcissist

The possible idea that I'm never to have ambition. 

Why does this bother you?

My life in some attempt of summation.

Back to Top