Dear Diary,
I don't know how to begin. There are so many thoughts in my mind. A lot—those words couldn't even fathom it all. I feel almost everything. I did things nobody will think I can do. It's because no one really knows me. I wore a mask for so long that I don't even know myself.
What can I do?
This world is dangerous when you are true. And no one is really true.
Everyone has a skeleton in their closet. Some are just too good at hiding them. And by ''them'', I am one. One of the pretentious beings in this world.
K.E
