Isn’t it strange that you’ll never meet the version of yourself that exists in someone else’s story?

To some, you’re heartless. To others, you’re kindness itself.

Some remember your laughter. Others can’t forget your mistakes.

But none of them truly know you.
They only know the version of you that crossed their path.

You’re not one person - you’re a thousand reflections in a thousand different minds, shaped by moments you may not even recall.

You can be a villain in a story you’ve never read, and a hero in another.

We’re all mosaics - broken, beautiful, and seen differently through every set of eyes.

You don’t get to choose which pieces they keep.

But you do get to choose the version of yourself you wake up to each day -
because in the end, the only story that truly matters is the one you write for yourself.