(no subject)
I've spent the past two hours reading and re-reading the entries of this journal. My chest is bleeding from incessant picking that my fingers failed to give up...this past makes me nervous. Who is this girl? Have all these words and thoughts been lost to time? I dont remember writing such things, feeling such things- were they honest? Do i envy my past self? Im afraid i have forgotten so much of the past two years and i rock with my head between my knees asking why? and how? could this have happened...
Perhaps the past is lost to time... i thought that it may circulate in the air- and i have been waiting for the Desert's chill expecting to see myself again. But instead it's through the writing... it's always through the writing. I remember those nights where my eyes felt the sky instead of seeing the colors.
im rambling. but this had to be recorded in a place where relevance still lingers..
excuse me
Perhaps the past is lost to time... i thought that it may circulate in the air- and i have been waiting for the Desert's chill expecting to see myself again. But instead it's through the writing... it's always through the writing. I remember those nights where my eyes felt the sky instead of seeing the colors.
im rambling. but this had to be recorded in a place where relevance still lingers..
excuse me