"Truth, perceptive to individualistic behaviour, is directly affiliated with confrontation without which, whatsoever, it rather becomes desolate, unreliably pathetic, worthless to in adept. We, all, however, entreat it not with a clear conscience as we'd like to think that we necessarily do, for the fear of what might be, makes it durable and withstanding. Unless we tether ourselves to who we are, more significantly, who we can be if we profess to honesty, there might be a hope in us to further our development so to speak. Nevertheless, I do not know how well this would affect me or restore my hopelessness whilst narrowing my chances at a fruitful life because, believe me, self-identification is not as feeble as one might assume beforehand, I'd owe to mine psyche's esteem and omit the truth about who I am and who I want to be, in light of present circumstances that have, so to say, altered my opinion on life, I do not know how to get past this. Past, my past is not something that I regret or would like to redeem if given the chance, metaphorically, yet what I would like to do is observe, observe from an ominous point of view like a writer, engrossed in the ambiguity of their work to even realise the fact of it all being a phantasmagoria, an illusion eliciting hypothetical fantasies adept in fooling the world. Moreover, if I could time travel, hopefully, I'd learn a few things about myself, something that might make me realise my inability to comprehend what I should have, but that is, within my capacity now, so as to comprehend and seek for guidance whensoever required and I am certain that it might prove to be an inspiration for people like me, and by that, I only mean the good adjectives that clearly emphasise on being abnormally insecure and otherworldly whilst the natural world commences without regard. Clearly, I have wasted quite an amount of ink by writing on this blank piece of articulate expression, I do, perhaps, seem to think that it'd help me in telling my story, consecutively, adding to my self reputation and rendering me to some extent, a biographer, perceiving differently, helping sentiently."
-E.A
YOU ARE READING
The Boy Without A Name
Romance"Give me a reason then." The boy demanded, eyes fuelled by a rage that was not unknown to him. "What?" Emmett questioned. "Give me a reason, tell me a lie, that contradicts to what you feel for me and I swear to you, I'd leave you alone." "I don't...
