Whenever I write something I always wonder if anyone would ever understand what I really meant with how I tied the words altogether. I love being tricky. Like, I write under a mask, portraying a completely different picture of a story on surface. And whenever someone correctly perceives my poetry as exactly as how I do, my soul rejoices a million neon color parade. It is fulfilling. While some resorted to asking me what I really meant, ’cause they keep guessing and chipping in a fraction of truth about my story, I light up fireworks of triumph as it is considerably half of the reason why I write the way I do. It honestly is even more fulfilling. Which made me decide that I can care less if people could not understand and resonate themselves with my writings, as long as I write what they need and not what they want. Who knows? They might realize that my works are somewhat relevant to the ever-evolving mankind when I’m already dead.