I don`t know what I want. And, I`m not sure what I need. I`m not sure who I want to be, who I want to meet, or where I want to be. I don`t know if I really believe in inner beauty so much that I don`t care about the exterior one. I am not sure if I care enough to become the next big thing, and if I even admire the same people that I`ve used to. I can`t really say anything with any certainty anymore. I am just not sure… I am confused…………………………… confused, yet certain enough not to tune out… to stop writing. Yet again, not clear enough to write. In this place of imperfect misbalance, in the moment of unease, I try not to be great, but to exist. Me, this white paper, and this black pen.


Yes, I`m pretty sure in that…


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