We write according to our feelings, to our emotions, to our desires and to our dreams; we write what we want the others to know, what the others don’t know, what we ourselves know and what we may not know; we write about the past, present and future of ours, of others. A piece of writing is somehow related to us, be it directly or indirectly, does not matter how many times we say it is not. Similarly, there are the occasions where we are part of it but we choose to deny it. When we write, we express; when we express, we show; when we show, we leave footsteps; in us, in others. We share the stories and apologize in the same time, for the guilt in us never leaves; we are hurt but happy in the same time, knowing that we care; we refuse to accept but showing appreciation, for we are glad; we try our very best to help and give advises, to show that we care. It may not be what we've expected and what the others have, but it certainly shows another us in our heads. Times where we need no apologies but care, where we want love but not guilt, where we know we should care and not being jealous, where we try our very best to lift up the smile, to tell them we care. The masterpiece of ours lays not only in our memories but also the others we’ve come across with, not only in our doings but also the others regarding ours, not only the pieces of others but also the others of others; the memories created, the pieces of our creations, the pieces of others’ and the universe.
