We cried at Clarke Quay yesterday when we started telling each other our insecurities and fears. We are very much alike, in the sense that our fears were somewhat related. I'm happy that I still have her, and that I was able to tell her such things.
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What does it mean to be happy nowadays? Insecurities as high as moutains and flaws as many as a thousand. It's difficult to plaster on a smile, even if for a little while. We wear masks and disguises. We walk around fully armoured. We carry knives and stab people in the back. I've been on both sides of the magnifying glass and find that we (I) have become uglier on the inside and out. Why can we never accept ourselves for what we are? Or who we are?
I wish I was a Robot because they're made of steel & they don't get hurt because they don't have hearts.
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