your ability to be honest and forthright shames me for all the things that I wished I could have said. you know, the times where I go over things in my head in the middle of the night, wishing I could have said something else and possibly change everything in the present. it’s not exactly regret, because what I have now isn’t too shabby either, it’s more like… wanting to know the alternate paths that I abandoned when I embarked on one particular choice. life is not like one of those ‘choose your own adventure’ books where you have bookmarks at every choice junction, so you know where to flip back to if you got a less than satisfactory ending. and I’m afraid that the ending I have chosen so far is going to be one of those. but there’s nowhere to turn back to. because you can’t edit life mid-sentence, or turn a few pages back and take back what you said or say what you didn’t/couldn’t/shouldn’t. you were too worried about how people saw you, too scared of the consequences, too busy pretending you were someone else. and that’s what I dislike about myself and about you sometimes, for not thinking before speaking, but you’re not fazed by other people’s reactions. to me, that honesty is refreshing, because gods know how dishonest I am, to everyone and to myself. and see, even now I’m just typing words in an abstract manner, not referring to anyone by name or any situation directly, because I still can’t spit the words out. It’s all in my head, all bottled up, until I’m lying on my deathbed, but by then I’d be too weak to say anything concrete and everything that I want to say would have to be burned up into ashes and scattered to the winds, and that’s alright with me, I think. nothing that I want to say to people should be voiced. let the winds take them and forget them.