(no subject)
Sooo...about six months ago, I started a journal. Just a regular journal. I wrote in it almost daily for a short time, then quickly lost interest. But it was long enough to grasp the importance of pen and paper, of getting thoughts and memories into something concrete. I realized that it's not about writing so someone else can understand, it's about writing to make the memory more vivid, more visceral for ME.
So, tonight, I felt like I should write; about my wondrous adventures, wondrous feelings, amazing experiences. But I really really don't believe that I'll be able to capture even an inconsequential bit of my treat in my journal. There's no words for the moment of tonight, no way to describe the volume of information I partook...I just interpreted so much, found out so much about myself, ever more important, ever more real, so much about my heart. I really feel that, if I try, it'll seem so naive tomorrow. Better to just hold on as tight I can.
"It's like trying to throw a live bumble bee at a puppy dog. Which is a weird analogy, and you all should just forget it right now."
So, tonight, I felt like I should write; about my wondrous adventures, wondrous feelings, amazing experiences. But I really really don't believe that I'll be able to capture even an inconsequential bit of my treat in my journal. There's no words for the moment of tonight, no way to describe the volume of information I partook...I just interpreted so much, found out so much about myself, ever more important, ever more real, so much about my heart. I really feel that, if I try, it'll seem so naive tomorrow. Better to just hold on as tight I can.
"It's like trying to throw a live bumble bee at a puppy dog. Which is a weird analogy, and you all should just forget it right now."