Things I already said, but still no one knows..

There are some things that I can't say, others that I can’t hide.
There are some things that I need to say, but in the end...  I can only hide them.

It’s funny how it's so easy to hide something, all that's needed  is to place it in plain sight. no one will ever look for it if it’s not hidden
Only things left covered, left alone, untouched and wrapped in a veil of shame,. hiding in a dark and shady place, where secrets usually are... end up being discovered.

I had something to say so I said it, but most likely you will never hear it, read it, or understand it.
Why? Because it’s not hidden, it’s out there, right in front of your eyes, without a need to sit, abandoned in the darkness..
Lately I had a lot to say, Thoughts and words running wild in my brain, waiting to become the digital ink on my virtual canvas.

I still feel imprisoned.  Saving all that should be said, saying all that should be saved. I feel trapped and shackled by my thoughts, eternally waiting for the right moment, the right time, the right chance.
That fleeting day that never comes.

 I have so much to tell, so much to share but no one here to listen, so I write, and hope. Hope that the message will reach its place, but it rarely does, and I am left alone with my abandoned words.

Words, when written, are my healing for the soul, I cleanse myself of all those feelings. The feelings that stay bottled up inside. I vomit on a piece of paper, blurring the lines where my soul was spilled.
I share my thoughts with everyone, and at the same time, no one...

I share my heart with whoever decides, by luck or fate, to read my message. But in the end having no control on who reads it or when, it is indeed read.

And like that, my open messages leave room for interpretation, you might think this message is for you.You might almost be certain, but in the end, the rightful owner will be left unknown. You can only assume, guess, hope... and this uncertainty, this flicker of fate, amuses me.

The uncertainty of letters formed into words. Formed into sentences. Formed into  messages.

Messages that only I know to whom they were intended, and, as time goes by, constant on it's path, I might forget why the message was written, and then it truly becomes uncertain, forever frozen on a state of where it has been delivered and still lingering in limbo.

And that amuses me. And so I write,  so I let go. I send my message out there, and let it go following its chaotic path,

It really feels a bit like staring at the stars, no matter how much you look, how much you try, you can never tell what really is on the other side.