Its my weakness. Its my pride. Its everything. Its nothing. It never ends. It ceases when challenged. Its big. Its small. Its my asset. Its my fault. Its my hope. Its my misery. It fools me. I fool it. Its a paradox. Its love. Or is it?
I have so many things to think about, laugh and cry about. So many memories and cherished moments. But somehow when I start writing, its for me and only me. Its a selfish beautiful process to heal me... and thats what I hope to share.