Just a simple square, our stories begin.
Papers,folds,denial,acceptance,courage,Tears,empty chairs,trails of scars,open it, close it and re-open it. The stories of Xenza's and Chris's meet at the cross road. Without a nod, but they touch one another's hearts. How many time have you heart being touch? a few? Time flies, only the empty apartment is left behind. Hold on, someone is outside. Who is he? I don't know him. Is he a spy? I have nothing here. Shall I open my door for a stranger? No! I shall turn off all the lights and close all the blinds. He keeps watching me! He keeps on describing my next move, my next speech. Who is he?
Scary stories creep into our everyday life. Who wrote those stories, and whom are they write for? You and me? Or, everyboby? I don't want to be notice. Don't write my stories! I hate the flash light! Don't put me on the spot for I am just an ordinary person with such a mundane life.
Is life likes textbook with pre-assigned assignments and procedure for not making mistakes? Then, what is mistake for?
Is life likes a blank page with no boundary that invites imagination,trials and errors to explore different possibilities for a master piece to settle?
What's matter, is only do you believe it.
I believe in Peter Pan, and you?
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