Whenever I want to write something or anything, I tear a paper at the back of my notebook. When I tear a paper from a notebook, it is always teared imperfectly. There’s always small parts of the paper that is left on its spine. Anyway, I won’t write something that important. I would just fill it with signature practices, scribbles and letterings of my name, draw anything and feel like an artist, math equations, song lyrics, romantic confessions, and any thought that would pop out of my mind. After consuming most of its space, I will crumple it and throw it in the trash.

But, what are these papers really for?

It’s for you to write your dreams, your desires, and your unfinished starts. But, it’s not for you to crumple and throw in the trash. It’s for you to keep, think deep, and live.

*(this is actually not a poem, i'm sorry)