I remember the days when I could write anything I want, however I want.
I miss those days.
No longer can I do those things, simply because if I do, truth will not sit well with the reality.
I miss it, really.
I miss it all.
Sometimes, I just want to close my eyes and imagine I'm in another story.
In my story.
Not this, story.
If they only knew.
But then again, truth, as it often is, will not sit well with the reality.
This is a story of a girl. And it starts with a shoe.
