What is life except being true to your innermost feelings, the things you like to do, or say or think about...
To be honest...to be lost, broken, withered, yet to be truthful, at least to yourself...despite everything you face...
I like the little bit of fact associated with every fiction, every dream...
I like Harry Potter - and the way he handles his inconsolable grief. If I know anything about grief, it makes you apprehensive, weak in the knees, always skeptical about probable, yet-to-come calamities...
I, no, not I, the bubble girl, with her imaginative mind...I, the woman with her analytical mind, has been finally able to solve the puzzle behind this sudden, strong, unfounded attraction.
It's simple...and I was blind. Opposites don't attract, similar people gel. And he's so like me...
But the matter should end there. It doesn't explain my teenage-like crush and craze, my virtual stalking, my occasional sulking...in short, my madness...this is a never-to-be, can't-tell-anyone-on-earth fantasy, why am I even letting it influence me?
I'm afraid of myself when I am in love...I tend to tell the world. Even when it is a silly, perceived, stupid love story that I'm simply conjuring up and convincing my mind to believe in it, when it doesn't even exist...
So...does this exist? Yes, because I've been him once...trying in vain to find relevance...if it's a mirror and I can see through it, he also just might be able to...
I am scared of ever letting out the secret - I've always been so boastful of my love stories...but I won't be able to handle more humiliation...why can't I let a bubble be a bubble?
Ohh, I am scared...if possible I'd lock myself down without connectivity...
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