A letter.

I'm going to give you a letter. Just a piece of paper. A piece of paper with words on it. Or is it mere letters trying to find their rightful place on it?

I'm going to attempt to write out my thoughts. I might be unscrambling letters on the paper, just like how I'm going to straighten out my jumbled thoughts. But words don't mean anything. Not much. Because it is too hard a process for thoughts to be transferred from my mind to the piece of paper. Words don't do minds justice. Nothing can ever do thoughts justice.

So I'm just going to try my best to convey my feelings through words. But even words act as a smokescreen to real thoughts. Filter after filter. In the end I would still want you to know what my message is, but too many layers are applied to it, to the point that the message is buried deep into the sand. Deeply embedded. And I would get frustrated, but I still shield myself with what's left of my sanity, or insanity.

Who knows, the letter, which is going to be of so much worth to me, might simply be just... a piece of paper. My letter which carries so much weight, so much feelings, might be worthless.

But even paper has its value.

zu.
twentythree.
still finding my way.
tumblr.