I used to write, once upon a time. I had a journal. Of course, it was an online journal. Paper is so comforting. It holds things for you and doesn't let go until you erase them. The computer has a mind of it's own. Still, we chose to type instead of write. It's much quicker, less messy to get your thoughts down quickly. And for someone like me, the thoughts, they come racing out of me a mile a minute and my hand...My written word could never keep up. So, for now, it is the computer.
I used to write for me. Poems and songs and phrases. The choices of letters to form my choices of words, stitched together seamlessly but almost never perfectly, forming the phrases that I hoped to touch, to reach others. It's all just jumbled letters. Why is my choice of the mixing's so special? Yet time and again I would write for others to read, and no one read. So, then I'd write for me.
I used to zone out, or rather, I used to entrance myself with the art of creation. Painting, singing, writing. It was all for me, and my time. I don't like to edit, or fix. What I've made is what I've made, and sometimes I don't even like it. All the time I don't like it, but I love it because it is apart of me. I love it because to lose it would create a void.
Recently, I have found that life is a sort of constants. It used to be a series of consistency. The same issues, the same days, involving new beings. As you grow older, the changes become more vast. More elaborate. How can you handle them when you had nothing to draw upon from recent experiences other than that day your hamster died, or that time your week old boyfriend broke your heart.
My heart has been raked. My mind rung dry of creative juices. I was left a shell, a zombie, a shadow. The wounds, the heal, but their scars ache reminders. Memories of the times you want to forget stay etched, to remind you that you want to forget them.
Then, certain people come along. And some of those people don't come along, but they've been always there and it wasn't until now that you were ready for what they are supposed to mean to you.
Then, certain people you have to let go of. People that once meant a lot, but their meanings have shifted with your reasoning and you and they no longer fit. And sometimes, neither of you want this, but sometimes only one of you speaks up. And the connection is lost. Network failed. Server dropped.
Sometimes, when one person comes into your life, another has to leave. For the balance of things.
This used to mean everything to me, but then,
I used to make sense.