st

I am done.

I wanna write. I wanna tell. Minus the readers. Minus the listeners. Or better yet, multiplied with animosity.

Gazillion of questions flooding the gates of my mind's kingdom. Dragons and demons hovering around waiting to burn my soul's depth. Unwanted thoughts racing relentlessly, riding horses, armed with vivid and swordlike memories. Arrows of unsolicited attention piercing through my gut. And the taste of steel, rusty blades and stale blood mixing with foul thoughts and nerve wracking, make or break decisions. And so, the battle begins.

In this very hour, my battle begins.

How can Christmas be merry when I don't even understand what being merry means? Moreso the use of celebrating?

If the struggle is in not knowing. And in knowing means more struggle, then I choose to succumb to my silence until the flames burns down. Much rather do I hurt because no one knows than be hurt with the reality of thousands knowing and no one caring. 

Not everything is about you. Always remember that the world doesn't revolve around you nor will it ever. Don't make things into your own, you are not entitled to relate everything to yourself. You are your own story. They are their own story. Know your line.