Realist? Hopeless Romantic?

Today is such a weird day for me, I had the urge to stop writing and give away all that I have compiled because I decided to be a realist. I hate the fact that all that I am writing is just made up. It sucks, because I wish everything I wrote was true. The bad and the good, the hopes and the dreams, the pain and the cuts. 

I talked to my friend about this, and she said "you have an alter ego. It's like on writing you're a poet, in real life you're a realist. It is balanced and there's nothing to worry."

That actually made some sense. Today's probably one of the days where I feel my writings are not good enough. The day where I feel like some things are better kept inside. The day where I feel like I am less important. 

But I guess these are not true, so I shall write again. Always.