(no subject)
it feels so strange to look over this journal and find that i don't recognize the person who wrote these thoughts. it is really strange to think that this was me. it's so sad. then funny. then sad. the years of this journal were tough years. i mean the years when i was truly writing. i don't know that anymore. but i dream about it sometimes, but it's different in dreams, and i dont know how i feel about that. i really like now, so i guess that's what matters.