Butterflies In My Brain
I am no writer, which ensues a deeper meaning to whatever words my heart forces me to write. I am no sentimentalist, I never really give in to words and dreams. But I find myself here searching for letters to draw the words describing what I don't have the audacity to admit. Maybe, I have been so accustomed to anticipating the worst possible scenario, to an already impossible situation, that I can't accept a highly probable one. It is like I am afraid that if nothing seems to go wrong something worse from all wrong would be inevitable. Maybe, I have been so consumed battling for perfection, that when an eye -so very effortlessly- sees me as such I shrug out of my skin. Maybe, I have been questioning the existence of unconditional affection, that when it crosses my path I render it blasphemy. I am not sure if I have been here before, or if this is a new place for me to get lost in. But I know that either ways it could be Beautiful. I leeched on edges my entire life,