I Write Like Mga Nobela at Kwento

He wanted to maybe even be my friend. And honestly, he was kind of funny. The way he rattled on in his writing, his inner thoughts coming out directly onto the page — I could totally imagine him talking to himself like that in real life, a constant stream of thoughts and words about everything and anything that was happening around him during his day-to-day activities.

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But here I am pleasing you, I hope you like the story so far, I promise it gets better. Just incase I get famous in the future by any chance, here's my i*******m : @faithodulesi . Hehe.

This man was difficult to read. “I’m not sure if I’d call myself a loner. I love to read.” I mentally sighed after the words left my mouth, realizing that I’d yet again given an example of something I do alone. “But I’m excellent at writing book summarizations.” We stared at each other in thick silence and I could almost hear the thundering of my own heart.

Writing is not just a profession for me; it's a means to connect with others, to share the wisdom I've gathered from both the magical and human realms. Each article I craft is a piece of myself, a reflection of the lessons I've learned, and a message of hope for those who read my words. The keyboard, my trusty companion, is an instrument through which I express my innermost thoughts and emotions. It's here, in the quiet hours of writing, that I find a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

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I feel too lazy to study at the desk, frankly I feel too lazy to do anything. "It's good that you brought the books here, I feel too lazy to move to the office....believe me, I want to finish this, I have more important things to do," said Jackson as he sat on the bed...I'm not the only one. “Believe me, too,” I said, then sat on the bed to find the door opened and Alaska entered and they came running towards me.... I missed them so much... "Hello" I said as I hugged Alaska and then came and kissed her on the forehead

I feel this is my mind imitating is voice and I say. "Jayden, you don't know, I like you. I like you so much, and cannot tell you, you're more handsome than this ugly duckling, me. And also, now, I got to know your family status is as this, you're not for Me." My face twitched. "I will pray for so much money next time I come to the world so, you can like me." I say, some small romance imagination starts to feel my heart. How would it be, me and him, in a picnic, and I will feed him with my bare hands.

I wonder if her words stood in an ill fitted scrawl on paper (everything she wrote was done on a typewriter). Yes, you guessed right. Geek and all, i can't write for shit. My handwriting has this strange look, like the T's are towering basket-ballers and the C's are monsters trying to eat everyone else. I wonder what she was like. I mean, Dad tries, but there are still these times i wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a mother, those times when i feel like a fundamental part of me is missing.

I am too much like Crawful. Too much like him.