Every now and then when I sit down to write, I get an odd sense of deja vu. It’s odd in the sense that the deja vu itself also gives me deja vu. It’s not over anything important, but I feel as though I’m missing something important.
All of this… none of this is what I’m really good at.
I’m letting it build up before I unleash it.
So which is worse: never realising that you are capable of almost anything, or realising that you are capable of almost anything but never doing it?
Everything has faded. I’m going to give you back your word, because you don’t deserve me and I don’t deserve you. Why would you want to show people words that you don’t want me to write, anyway?
I don’t want to be quiet.