Two Way Street
I spent most of the day watching reruns of one tree hill. Not reruns to me- but still reruns.
I’m not sure if I quite understand “blogging”
My posts won’t really fit into any category, they are what they are. And I don’t know what they are.
To tell the world your secrets- that’s what I don’t know if I can do.
I’m so used to scribbling frantically in a diary and hiding it under my bed. Or typing something furiously onto a word document and printing it without saving it.
My thoughts are precious to me, and sometimes they really shouldn’t be shared.
Because my thoughts are all I really have. Especially right now considering the recent breakup. If you can call it a break up. Feels more like world war 3 happened between my heart and my stomach.
Shooting pains and an unexpected grenade in the bottom of my abdomen.
But I’m doing this mostly for me, but also maybe for someone who might get something out of it.
I’m not sure who- because I don’t know how to even “follow” people on this thing.
But maybe someone somewhere.
Writing is something I will never fall out of love with.
The irony there is, I always thought that love had to be two-sided.
Writing doesn’t love me, and neither does he.
But writing helps me to love myself, and so does losing him.