Is this a lasting treasure, or just a moment's pleasure?
Endings. Goodbyes.
I'm terrible. I get sad, no matter what is ending, or who I'm saying goodbye to. Does that mean I have a hard time letting go? I think it does.
Today was the last day of my junior year in college. Totally scary. My Latin career ended today, and that was sad for me. I've been taking Latin since I was in 8th grade. I said goodbye today too, and that was sad. I packed up all my clothes and loaded up my car. Sad.
I do have a hard time letting go of things. I think maybe I've gotten better as I've gotten older, but I also think part of that has to do with the fact that I don't really let myself feel. I do feel, of course, but I'm wearing gloves; I touch, but it's subdued. I haven't really let myself get attached to anyone lately. Not really attached. I guess I keep myself too busy to really take a good look at the way I'm feeling, too. I used to dwell on my feelings all the time. I and my teenage angst wrote poetry together. Bad poetry, I'm sure. The poetry has stopped, but I assure you the feelings haven't; I've just stopped taking note of them. I think that is perhaps why I've neglected this thing for the past year or so. Longer, maybe. I haven't wanted to sit down and take a good look at my insides...
I feel like I've matured a lot this year. Mature people ignore their feelings, right?
I have a tiny little terracotta pot full of dirt and seeds. I'm waiting for a flower.
Things are alright. (:
I'm terrible. I get sad, no matter what is ending, or who I'm saying goodbye to. Does that mean I have a hard time letting go? I think it does.
Today was the last day of my junior year in college. Totally scary. My Latin career ended today, and that was sad for me. I've been taking Latin since I was in 8th grade. I said goodbye today too, and that was sad. I packed up all my clothes and loaded up my car. Sad.
I do have a hard time letting go of things. I think maybe I've gotten better as I've gotten older, but I also think part of that has to do with the fact that I don't really let myself feel. I do feel, of course, but I'm wearing gloves; I touch, but it's subdued. I haven't really let myself get attached to anyone lately. Not really attached. I guess I keep myself too busy to really take a good look at the way I'm feeling, too. I used to dwell on my feelings all the time. I and my teenage angst wrote poetry together. Bad poetry, I'm sure. The poetry has stopped, but I assure you the feelings haven't; I've just stopped taking note of them. I think that is perhaps why I've neglected this thing for the past year or so. Longer, maybe. I haven't wanted to sit down and take a good look at my insides...
I feel like I've matured a lot this year. Mature people ignore their feelings, right?
I have a tiny little terracotta pot full of dirt and seeds. I'm waiting for a flower.
Things are alright. (: