A book.

My thoughts are just memories to be painted over.

While i am an artist, growing up to take reality up before my childish sleeves sometimes will be too much. which i can say, unbearable. I started to label things that seems unfair as a natural order of life. And i was told, to keep it as it meant to be.

Sometimes, i feel myself just like a book. That people read each of my words, glancing through different pages with multiple choice of emotions.And i feel free for them to write the synopsis with their own perspective, and i am bound to take all the blame.And even the final judgement for my own life, lies at the hands of the reader. Pasrah.


I just want to say thanks, to those people that comes as a blessing in disguise. Upon the mechanism of disguise which i can say hard for me to take on, but i know, it helps me to be better. And better.And thanks again for the little piece of advice, that helps each of us going on living another day without sorrow.

But you'll never know, how hurt it was. You'll never know, to be the person who knows;

On how the mechanism of "meant to be" works.

So you think i can't really read my own reader? Think again.