The feelings that I now harbor, they are jumbled up in one juxtaposed pile of indescribable mess. I don't like to speak of it - even to the closest of my friends - because a part of me feels that although they are kind enough to listen to my random, ridiculous rants, they haven't endured the experience to fully comprehend what I'm trying to express.
Gosh, especially the heavy sense of awkwardness in the air.
We hide behind masks on a daily basis to shield ourselves from what it is to come from the people around us. We accept sincere compliments and attempt to neutralize the hatred spewing in their words as we process it at our own terms.
But one thing is obvious: I am not who they think I am and they are not who I think they are. Basically, you'll only know who the person actually is if you are able to peel off the layers that have been glued to their mask.
To the person whose heart is as big as a bear's,
I'm sorry that you had to endure tremendous hurt.
We can't reverse the time no matter how much we want,
But it's better this way;
The wedge between us will allow for wounds to recover.
To the person who had the power to wipe the stress off,
I'm sorry that you had to tolerate the random outbursts of a Scorpio.
We clicked as much as we wanted to strangle each other.
We may not be in frequent communication,
But we are still in touch.
To the person who never understood me,
I'm sorry that you believed the lies rather than the truth.
I have to thank you, on the contrary.
Thank you for showing me what a cruel stroke life has.