I started for selfish reasons: I wanted to write, and I wanted people to know that I write. over 5 years, I am still selfish. I want to keep writing, and I want people to keep reading.
If along the way, these words comforted you: I am glad. If reading these words did for you what a tub of ice-cream does for most, then I feel the warmth. It would be an add-on if my thoughts made you muse about your own memories and choices — about nostalgic pain and a dizzy melancholy.
But that’s about it.
I don’t want to be an inspiring figure. At best, I am a flawed person too tied to the past. At worst, I am a terrible human with the innate ability to hurt anyone, including the people I claim to love. And this is not me fishing for pity comments: It is a fact.
For all those who have stayed—reading and commenting— I thank you. For everyone who feels I am undeserving, I agree. For the one girl who messaged saying she is sure that I look as beautiful as my words: I am far away from that adjective.
I have no idea what I want from this page: It’s just there. One day, I will try to sell you things with a hope that you like me enough to buy.
Until then, I have nothing but words.
And, for as long as I can see, that is all I will have.
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