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I tend to have a lot. I always act like a twinkle-eyed kid looking at someone with the desperation to be understood. I tell things and experiences but they tend to treat it like folklore. It is a story but it’s mine to keep. It’s yours to judge. But still, expectations always get the best of me. I feel like if someone goes through all this I would not treat them like I have been treated. Maybe sometimes I do need the sympathy or the care. It’s not yours to give yet kinetics take.

How incredible is the fact that every moment I try to be as normal as a leaf but eventually fall down like the autumn breeze? I want to tell a lot of things but will you listen or will you do so for the good person that you think you are. It isn’t a good thing to share that’s one thing I realised as the only time that they actually listen is when you are on your deathbed with no expectations and a smile.

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About The Author

Rijul Singh

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she’s to write fiction~ Virginia Woolf. | English Literature Student |

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