Capturing what’s inside of me since I’ve been born has not only made me a hushed moron but also a pathetic writer. I always try to hide my sentiments from the world because I can’t show how weak I am to them. To the world, I am the strongest and a cold person who doesn’t feel a thing. Reality states the opposite!
Running away from the world, wearing a mask in front of everyone reveals my true self in front of the people I love but miserably that doesn’t matter to them. It’s mundane. These senseless tears won’t stop themselves in front of those who really matter. And when I see myself from their eyes, I’m nothing more than a drama queen!
I’m weak and helpless in front of these beloved souls. I’m feeble for them and because of them. All the façade and the drama vanishes and I am the real me in front of them who’s vulnerable and breakable like any fragile glass that desperately wants someone to save itself but nobody comes and there’re shards around, always…