I could tell you stories. Stories, which will reflect my character, my destructive side, which attacks me everytime when I want to spread my wings. I could tell you lies, which seems to satisfy you evertime we talk and share the moment. I feel like I should give it back to you, the real me, without fake IDs and masks which are worn by me everyday. But everytime when I'm just about to show you the truth, paralyzing fear is crawling in. It brakes me down, smashes like a little piece of glass. So useless and not needed by anyone.
But so in need of you...
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