And when you told me you don't know how to love me because I am too much, as if I asked for anything but mentioned my love language is touch. You say you have no idea how to make me feel special, as if you are a penguin searching for a pebble. All I ever wanted was a space to be messy. To rip off the illusion of perfection I built so convincingly and to be dark in front of you. I wanted to show you the raw parts too where my sadness can be exposed, but you were too focused on being perfect, which is the exact thing I've been escaping. I wanted to be painfully real and to reveal my truest form, my mind is a chaotic storm that you'll never get to know. You refused to explore and chose to let go.

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Lupar, in the year 872 AF.