It’s not what I didn’t say,
it’s what I didn’t know.
It’s not what I didn’t feel,
it’s what I didn’t show.

 I have this little book, where I write down quotes people say, or I say, or poems.
Just words.
Everything is a copy.
I like words, and I like that nothing is original. We just expand or simplify other people’s ideas.
I write things down for two reasons.
One, to use in future or current writing projects.
Two, because I like to keep things to myself.
It never ceases to amaze me how open some people can be, especially with total strangers.
Sometimes, to avoid saying, ‘No, I’d rather not share that with you, I don’t know you nor trust you’ and all the repercussions that would come with that,
I lie.
Never about anything important.
Just small, white lies.
Twists of the truth.
Although I’m sure that is what all liars say.
Like just simply saying yes instead of  no or vice versa.
It’s like a defence reflex I have around people I do not trust.
A friend of mine noted the other day, that it took me a year before I opened up to her.
I thought that was interesting.

 This post is a complete contradiction.
You’re a complete contradiction.