Confessions
I am not perfect. I am not always happy. I am confused as hell with a lot of things. I am easily distracted. If someone would look into my mind, it would feel as if someone just discovered that my apartment is messy as fuck. And I am embarrased about myself. I am not proud that I think about me. I am not proud that I am a worrier, and that I suffer nervous breakdowns.
My love is not perfect. I made it myself from the books I read and the films I watched as if someone learning how to knit. Just pieces here and there, and that is what I try to give to him. I have anger management issues. And sometimes out of frustration I am the first to tear this thing I sew apart because I am mad. I am a feminist, but my love is different. I am Libra, but my love is Scorpio.
I believe in horoscopes and patterns, and defend it like its science. But I question God’s existence everyday. But I pray. I try to sound hopeful but inside I despise everything I see. But a lot of times I’ve loved people even before we are friends. I have trouble making friends.
He is good to me. I am not. I curse him. I wish him bad. I ruin his life. I write him goodbye notes just to save him from myself but I do not have the courage to ever let him read one. I believe in love though I don’t know what it is. When my mouth is shut, it means I am clueless as fuck.
I am not brilliant. I am shamelessly lazy. I am secretly ambitious beyond my own capability. This drives me craz. I hate myself for feeling competive. Part of me just want to lie in his arms and not move a muscle. I just want to close my eyes and sleep.