Transition

When I die my life will be written in my heart.
A reason. A void. A meaning.

But exactly, if a man does his best, what else is there?

When I die my life will be written in my heart.

5.19 am + 3

I dont want to this anymore.

Not anymore, I have to do this somemore!

en route

Inadequacy

Dear Diary

To mark the end of July, My Diary. & it shall be woven into my life like fabric. Change.

One Two Three

Desire
Passion

Change. Live. Alive.

“All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.” Anatole France

We are not the kids we used to be; stop wishing for yesterday.

I am what I write, if come a day, writing doesn’t tell me who I am. I will stop… That is almost like now.

Home on a Saturday night, can’t help but feeling a little more recumbent than before, procrastination possible for all the wrong excuses, or more commonly associated with, reasons? I have too many too many … damn. I knew I should stop.

The paradox of Trust

“When you trust someone, you empower that someone to hurt you”

should we trust or should we not?

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As much as I wish to

I think I don’t have the ability to write anymore.