I confess that while I believe in freedom of choice, I am rather bad at embracing it in a fulfilling path of hardship, when it comes to the matters of the heart. Hear me dear Nothing, I am not regretful at all, because I see the other me standing tall everywhere and I don't envy him, since he is blind to many more things that make us weaker. But he also radiates a glow that seems soothing. Thankfully for me there are many more, coming from different places, different faces, yet not exactly similar to this one and that's for the best, for I have seen how quickly this one withers.
On another note, I confess that I don't judge anybody and I don't judge myself, and vice-versa. I also confess that I know nothing and that I know it, which is indeed easier and more difficult at the same time. And I confess that I don't believe in entertaining, but in sharing, and that I see in judgement and entertainment two very sturdy obstacles to sharing.
I confess that I can’t play with life and feelings, and that if I do to someone else’s eyes, I want this someone to understand that it pains me, for I know that my humour creates misunderstandings that equals to the length of Kevin Hart’s father’s rod.
I confess that I try to fight the best police with wisdom rather than with its own weapons. Until the next confession, dear Nothing, I praise you for all that we don’t and less.