![]() ![]() What if I shared our secrets? Tore open the book, sent the word documents, left all that’s written open to explore? Would people still love once they saw the thoughts in my head? Would they judge me? Would it make them want to hold me tight, or run away screaming?īut you are my comfort zone, and I’m happy here. Only I dictate what I write and what I do with what’s written. Everything on these pages comes from my heart, my head and only I can see it. A piece of paper or a word document on my computer. It’s a weird feeling, yknow? I write to you and I feel heard. ![]() I do ask you both for advice, and it ends up the same – talking it all out until I come up with the solutions on my own. ![]() And sometimes I write to you, as if I’m already gone.Īm I being selfish? Keeping all these secrets for just you and I to share? You’re like my therapist, except I pay you less, but you know more than she does. Other days I write to you as if to give future me a message (even though we both know I won’t listen). Sometimes I write to you like you’re my best friend, waiting to here the gossip. Was it about these pages? They know more about me than anyone. My problems have gotten a lot more complicated than that, but here I am still writing in you and I don’t even know why. Or how I wished I was friends with certain girls, but they didn’t like me. Or I’d write about the cute boys and girls in my class. When I was younger, I would write about how annoying my brother was being, or how unfair it was that my parents had stricter rules for me than him. I’ve been writing in you for as long as I can remember. ![]()
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