Incomplete 

“there is a hell, believe me, have seen it. There is a heaven, let’s keep it a secret.”


She is not complete. She never pretended otherwise.

She is made of half written stories, undone poems, half written articles, unread books, several what if’s, unsaid goodbye’s, unfinished projects and a bunch of undone’s, unsaid and incomplete.
She is made of incomplete, don’t for minute think she could be complete when all she has ever known is incompletedness 
She is incomplete and she wears it like a badge of not so much honour.

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