XI.

I don’t know why I haven’t written because I want to. I’ll sit down and think about what to write and I think that’s the problem. I made this for me. For me now and for me later and probably for me before. I’ve kept a journal for as long as I can remember as some sort of time capsule of my life. But what’s funny is I don’t think I’ve actually finished a full journal. Just a library of unfinished works. Have anyone ever gone back and read an old journal? I don’t. I’m not sure why, maybe I’m scared of how I felt back then. Or don’t want to go there. I was so sad, poor girl. Life’s been good for me, stable. I feel like I’m finally settling into myself, growing up as they say. In a groove. I think from a lot of work and healing I’m finally going back to my most true, centered self. Picking up old hobbies but as if they were new to me again. When I play guitar my fingers naturally play songs for me but I don’t think I’m the one playing the songs. If that makes sense. I wonder if I should date theses, I think I should. Anyways that’s it for now. I can’t believe life is life and I am me and this is that and that is this. But that’s what this is.