
Sometime ago when we were carefree, holding hands and writing each other notes in between the hallways of social identity, that was the highlight of our day. First love, where did you go? Something is missing in this story that I wrote of my future. Our future. I painted this elaborate portrait on a canvas, made only for you, but something is still missing. That fire, aggressive but yet tender stroke of each attempt of writing on your walls has left me embracing now, what could've been then. Something is missing......
Today, I look around and see all the memories of what we shared yesturday and know that I was happy in those pictures. But at this moment right now, I can't put my finger on it, but something is missing. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, awaiting to hear your voice and remembering every word your still voice said to me. Today, I turn back to you because I recognize that yes indeed, something is missing.
What was missing all of this time you ask? It was my first love of course....... writing!!!
BREAK THE SILENCE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!!!




