(no subject)
I'll admit, this is the first night in literally a year that I've gotten an itch to share even a fraction of what's been going on in the intricate universe that is my mind with the world, even if only with the cyber vortex know as the internet. Likely, few who are acquainted with my person in the harsh reality known as "real life" no longer look to online journaling as a means of coping, which makes it that much easier to spit out the senseless rubbish floating around in my head. Typing has always been a form of therapy for me, although lately my fingers have developed some rather dyslexic tendencies. I fear that I've developed a rushed sense of panic in my every day actions causing a tendency to go into hyperdrive making the result of most of my pursuits clumsy and sloppy. It's really a shame too. Once upon a time I took such care in every thought and action. Secretly I fear I'm losing a sense of purpose.
My memories fog my mind as of late. I find myself looking back at things that have long since passed, and I wonder if I like myself back then better. Then I try to remember when things started to change. I don't regret who I am, but I envy what I was.
My memories fog my mind as of late. I find myself looking back at things that have long since passed, and I wonder if I like myself back then better. Then I try to remember when things started to change. I don't regret who I am, but I envy what I was.