I believe that we are all like books. Having the power to a capture a wanderer in the enchanting trap of our own words. Painting our lives. Spilling ourselves on these pages. I just turn out to be a closed one. Reluctant to spill myself. My soul is like a book that hasn’t been proofread. I have my own flaws and imperfections. Maybe a guy will come along and realuse I’m perfect without any editing. My soul has been spilt along the pages of my book and I’m afraid that I am just not interesting enough to capture the thoughts of a guy. I hope I’m wrong and that I’m good enough. I just hope.
P. S. I’m sorry but this post is just what I feel about nowadays. It might not be what you expect out of me but I think someone who feels the same way would understand what I mean on a deeper level.