I didn't want to be the one to forget.

“Good writers have two things in common:
they prefer to be understood rather than admired;
and they do not write for knowing and over-acute readers.”

- Friedrich Nietzsche

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What if I told a story, which no one, including myself, believed?

What if I ran away, disappeared, and hid away in a place, but everyone knew where I was?

What if I started a chapter of a book, when there was nothing to write about in the first place?

What if I got lost trying to figure out what's missing, when there was nothing missing to begin with? 

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Why stagnate?
Why try to relive the past?
Why have memories?
Why think?
Why complicate?
Why smile?
Why explore?
Why exist?

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M.

I thought of everything I'd never regret.