Oh there are so many things I wish I could write here. But then that would make me look weak, naïve, foolish, suicidal and perhaps too emotional for my comfort.
It might also paint me as a diabolical maniac, a callous bastard, a pervert, a schizophrenic and an in general mentally unstable being; also something which I wouldn’t want.
It probably would expose me to the world, force me to stare at my insecurities and remind me of all what I have lost; not a pleasant possibility by any stretch of imagination.
Scariest thing of all, it would let people know what I think about them. What I think about myself. Not pretty, trust me. So I persist, trudging on, carrying the burden of my guilt.