I wish I could put in words all the stories I have to tell, all the thoughts I have to share, all the ideas I come up with. I wish I had the ability to lay them down in form of coherent thoughts instead of rambling notes that probably don’t make sense to anyone but me.

On my best days I still hope that someday it will all make sense somehow… the questions, the fears, the uncertainties, the characters that day after day keep me company and night after night invade my dreams. The ones that have the life I dream or the one I fear the most.

I wonder if there’s something else I can do with them, something useful, productive. It just seems such a waste to have all these lives, all these personas with so many stories to tell and keep them locked where only I can hear them. Like somehow I am their confident, though they were never really given a choice.

But then again maybe that’s the point. Because maybe if I dare to look closer I’ll see that, truth to be said, I’m not their confident as much as they are mine. And the reason I can’t bring myself to let go of their stories is because all of them have a bit of me, and if I would set them free those who would care to look closer would be able to see more of me than I’m willing to share.