I write about someone I used to know, I write for the person you once were, not for the stranger you’ve become. I write for the past, not for the future.
I write for the memories, not for the hope. I write for the good, the wonderful, the amazing, not for the bad, the ugly, the painful, the hurtful.
I write for someone I’m not sure exists any longer, but I still write for what once was, for who that person used to be, for the warmth that filled my soul, for the many ways I’ve grown because of that person’s patience and affection.
I write for the pinkish images of happiness that are stuck in my mind forever, not for any dreams. I write for the sweetness of the first bite, not for the bitter aftertaste. I write for a glorious past. And for the now.
I write for myself and because my thoughts and feelings deserve an outlet, they demand to be expressed and not simply perish in a desert of unsaid, unwritten, unheard. Because the present is all I have and all I want to relish in. Because I don’t want to forget who I am right now and the potentiality of becoming something more, someone better. Because I don’t want to forget the passions and the pains that I might experience from now on, or the ones that have left their marks on my heart up until now.