past

You are such a liar.
But I love you anyway.

I can't help ot but to feel abondoned, you used to love my works, or at least were better at lying, but now you just don't care at all. And it's not like I don't understand, it's just that I have no idea what to do next, could i pursue the career of a writer if even my world ignores my words. Is there a way I can make a difference, my words can make a difference, if I'm all alone in here?

I guess I'm the thief, after all.