Maybe I’m not a perfect. Maybe I’m beyond that. Maybe sometimes life weighs on me like powerful words. Words I might not be able to hear more than once. But maybe we all aren’t perfect. Maybe we all are classified in different categories, and maybe each category contains only one person. In other words, maybe people are unique. Maybe there are no duplicates. Maybe only one of you exists, so maybe you should cherish the odds.
Maybe I’m not as smart as I seem. Maybe these thick green glasses tell lies. Maybe I have straight A’s, but maybe that doesn’t mean I know everything. Maybe I’m not an object open for everyone to play with. Maybe I’m not a genius. So maybe you shouldn’t call me smart. Maybe calling me smart is not entirely true.
Maybe I hide things. Maybe I don’t share my emotions. Maybe I don’t care about my emotions, or maybe they constantly bother me. Maybe I’m strong, or maybe I’m wounded. Maybe I’m already dead.
Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I should just stop. Or maybe I should let life swallow me whole, into an abyss of humiliation.
Maybe there is hope. Maybe life isn’t over. Maybe there is another road waiting for me on the other side of this rough barrier. If I could maybe climb it, maybe I will be ok.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Or maybe I’m too late.