I write about myself so you can fathom a personification of sadness. About God because when you asked me if I were religious I told you faith is what I try my darndest to keep dearest. About fear so that I gradually gain perspectives between the night sky and stars. About love because that concept seems out of reach I am not built with the capacity for much. About a leaf falling because tears are pretty much similar. About romance because hope sometimes settles in the dark. About nature because forces are both abstract and concrete it blows the temple in my heart. About loneliness so I can hear you say I am not the only one feeling that way. I write about feelings so I can cope with the fear that they might one day not be able to come again. About hell because there are odds and possibilities. About us because there are odds and possibilities, albeit lesser. About heaven because days are too warm here I hope it rains tonight. I write about death so when it comes it tastes like rain, at night, in heaven. I write about you so perhaps you won't forget to remember me. Noor Iskandar
About This Quote

When I was in high school, my friends and I used to joke about writing a journal. It was something we all thought we would do when we were older and graduated and moved on with our lives. My friend, Diego, had even written one. He was the only one who did so in the entire school year I attended.

I didn't want to write it too because I was afraid that writing down my thoughts would be a waste of time and that I would just forget them the moment they were no longer on my mind. However, my friend, Janae, felt differently. A few months later she wrote her own journal and I was shocked that she had done so.

Her tone was serious and her words were earnest. She didn't say things like "wow" or "oh wow" or "this is so cool." Her journal wasn't filled with weird metaphors or hyperbolic metaphors for things like rainbows or "the best day ever." It wasn't about making fun of other people or saying weird things about how you'd die if you didn't get your way. It wasn't about bragging or being mean at all times.

She said everything simply and honestly without any explanation for it whatsoever. It was strange to read someone's thoughts without knowing why they were thinking them at that exact moment in time, but somehow it felt more real somehow if only because reading her thoughts seemed different than reading someone's innermost thoughts.

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