Once there was a girl who tried to write the Scarlet Letter on the left side of her vest. Two years after, she wept.

Broken and broke at the same time, she stripped the A down, put on a hood, and been a complete bystander in a slum. There, in just few days later, she felt hunger.

With the last ounce of strength left in her, she then went to a close friend’s place only to discover they’re no longer on the same page.

Bathed in tears, she headed to the abandoned castle at the far east. Not so long, she found herself dancing in the arms of a gentle beast.

She had been to different places and met different faces.

She saw and she felt

And every story she wrote in her own book of once blank pages.

She wrote about pain and happiness. Then more of the former than the latter. More of the former than the latter.

More of the former…

Her pen’s ink soon became tears. It was no longer writing but crying.. crying out of pain from telling same unhealthy scenes.

‘Til one day, she dropped her pen. She picked it up and suddenly woke up.

Then and there she realized. She never saw. She only thought she did – and so she felt.

Yes, an ambitious dream it could only be…

For someone who writes but doesn’t read.

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