I used to write because neither the paper or the pen can judge you.
I used to write because it was my opportunity to let it all out.
I wrote because of the idea of a perfect love story was still inside my head.
And maybe one day I would write it for me.
I wrote because it was my only escape.
The only light inside this dark room that was my mind.
Because it saved a part of me, while the rest was being buried.
I would write love stories, even when mine was a disaster.
I would write happiness with tears rolling down my eyes and my heart broken into millions of tiny little pieces.
I wrote for the idea of love.
I wrote trying to save me from the voices in my head.
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