That wasn't me...was it?

I'm reading old journal entries from 2006.

What a terrible year. What a horrible existence.

It's so strange to read about my life then, to think about my life then. It's honestly just like I've put all of that past completely out of my memory bank. So much so, in fact, that it's like none of that ever happened.

Like, honestly. If I ever actually get to thinking about all of...that...it's like I'm remembering someone else's life, someone else's miserable past. Have you ever experienced this? Blocking out memories, people, events to the point of them seeming...surreal? To the point of it seeming like it never actually happened?

This is how it is for me.

Who was I then? I guess I was still figuring it out. Hell, I'm still figuring it out. Who am I now? I guess, comparatively, I am "happier", but with certain emotions and feelings being as they are, now, it's truly hard to say whether or not I am happy in general.

I want my happy.

Give it.

Untitled

I miss you. The way you make me feel. The way you motivate me from deep within yourself. That look of completion in incompletion. That great taste of power I receive from accomplishing you: I lap up the wisdom and the knowledge and the strength from your bowl of creative expression and hope that one day I will fill the bowl on my own. Among your columns and rows and letters and words…I am whole. I am finally final.

I miss you, writing. I miss our good times.