Still haven't written anything. So I thought I'd revisit you, and see if anything can come out of me, before I completely forget. My plans of revisiting didn't work. I still haven't written anything...meaningful, of substance...like I used to. I still can't remember what I wanted to say and how I feel. As if I didn't write anything at all. Maybe that's why. I'm typing, not writing.
Even my journal is hiding...sleeping...in a box along with my useless, unnecessary books that I hated reading but loved possessing because I felt smarter and more important having them there. It's just taking up space but the pages are left untouched and unmarked by the ink that would dry up because of how much I wrote on my journal with my sloppy-thinking-outlloud-gotta-write-this-down-idea-so-I-don't-give-a-flying-fuck-if-it's-sloppy handwriting. SO far from my typical "nice" writing.
I miss writing. It was my release. It helped me cope. It helped me vent. It helped me breathe through times of trouble. Now I don't know what to do. I don't even have writing anymore. It almost feels like I don't have anything anymore.
