Written Letters Whenever I Am Alone

A Long Day

Hi,

Sometimes I have this urge to tell myself I should hide from everyone, and from everything that keeps me living my life. Three years ago, I decided that I am a writer because I wrote poems, and short stories, and my favorite authors and people inspired me to keep on reaching that little dream in my head. Well, unfortunately, having writer's block sucks but it is a part of our journey. So, I chose to live in that phase. Funny, 'cause up until now the words that come out whenever I am writing this kind of stuff feels like I am not so sure about what's happening with me. If I am doing it right, or would it satisfy whoever read this masterpiece?

I wonder if my skills are enough to build me up as a better person— and a buttercup who should fill her stomach if all of my favorite people die. If I have a dice right now on my palm, I'd draw it and wish that the number 6 comes out. Then, I'd name it, "6 hours to live." Come on, I'm not dying, and I'm sure I am freaking afraid to die. I am scared of the blood but look at me— alive and kicking after my operation last February. It was successful, and I can say that He was with me at that time. But this isn't about that, perhaps.

"Where was I?"
"Who am I?"

Believe me when I say I am not insecure about my beauty because I know that my family has undeniable genes. However, there's this one incident that happened when I was in 7th Grade that made me insecure about my knowledge. Ghad, I didn't even acknowledge the fact that I have a straight line of seven in 1st Grade, and because of unknown reasons, my card was full of inks that you couldn't recognize what was written on that— I'm the one who's behind it.

I know I'm being dramatic and telling personal pieces of stuff. Believe me that whatever happens in the past, and to the present will always attack you, and create damage that people say only forgiveness/time/God can heal that wound.

There's no main topic that will be visible in the paragraphs, and yet there are multiple choices for you to digest that the person who wrote this— is a mess.