Write, write, write, about pointless things. His words were like my lullaby more than anything. Now what should I do, when all I have left, is precisely what I’m trying to forget? Because all boys have taught me has been heartache and pain, and to them, love seemed to be only a game.

Write, write, write, with this pen in my hand, I feel less like a small, irrelevant grain of sand. People will pass me by, but somewhere in my dreams, I find that I could amount to anything. I wonder sometimes, why girls have to do this. Why do we have to cry, and fight, then go crazy and lose it? What on this earth can keep us at least slightly sane? Because though boys seem to be the only ones capable to do it, they’re the ones we always place the most blame.

Write, write, write, this is my only escape for when my world seems to cave in, crash, and break. Like it or hate it, it’s who I am, and I don’t plan on changing. Because thanks to the ones who broke me, I know people are usually lying. But when I find someone who is brave enough to tell me the truth, that’s the day I’ll finally mean it when I say “I love you.”