and so i danced along with the words that was disturbing my mind for a long time. the hallways where epiphany was just a thought turned into paragraphs that tells a tale about something that i wonder late at night.

writing is not a home, but an escape, a way out of all my thoughts. yet, as i dive deeper i know, it's not just an escape route of how cruel the world is but a savior. 

i turned into a damsel who writes her distress but i never wore a gown at all. just words and stories that i wanted to save just to save me.