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 That confidence and trust, serene and calm feeling. Tell me where I can get it. By talking to my "friends" who don't have any idea who I truly am? Or by staying up late enjoying the silence of the night.

   It's not that I have trust issues, no, I just...I just prefer not to tell you anything because even if I do you won't get it, you can't understand and I won't feel at ease like I wish to.

   So instead, I'll pick up my pen and that worn out companion to pour out my thoughts, empty my worries and feel at ease like I want to.

   It's not an intent to keep it hidden, it's just that you won't ever get it. 

I'll love to tell you

But we don't think on the same wavelength

You never fail to misunderstand me.

I really don't blame you.

But there is nothing that can be done.

So every night, I pick up that worn book and trusty pen.

I'll pour out my pains and frustration of the day that I had no words to describe to you but these words somehow surfaced once I saw my pen and book.

  You have to remember; if there is anything you wish to know. All you have to do is reach my book (if you can) and read through.

   It's an old leather, as old as my memories, but it knows more than you ever will.