I have my optimism up in the air for March full of lovely evenings and rowdy nights, sitting in cars for hours, fast drives, deep talks. They get me all wrong, think I'm stowed away in worn books the kinds that makes you sad your youth isn't what you expected it to be but I swore something to the angel from my nightmare that I, Nurul Fatehah, will keep reminding myself that I am loved like crazy and none of that will I waste.
March will come about a blessing that I actively choose to have. I will consciously decide for everything to be about compassion, foremostly for my own self. Mostly for people who actively choose to stay.
We're lawless. You know that.
