I’ve been neglecting my online ramblings as of late in favor of ink and page. There are just some confessions that aren’t mean for the world and only for the privacy of a leather bound book. It hasn’t been easy working through the things going through my head the last couple of months, but I’ve managed. Every day I wake up and wonder what fresh hell the world has in store and I find most often that the most despicable things happen in the world behind my eyes.
I don’t understand the war that I’ve waged on myself, but the fact that a war was declared at all has told me a thousand things that I really would have rather not known. The impossible isn’t worth giving second thoughts. Or first thoughts, really. I can’t help but let my inner destruction play heavy on my mind. I can contain it inside, but I can’t erase it entirely. In years to come, I’ll look back and eventually all this will have faded. Only time marching forward keeps me pushing through every day.
I feel as though I opened this web browser to spill a thousand secrets and have done nothing but dance around them the entire time that I’ve been typing. It looks like I’m still on the train of pen and pad to display my true thoughts. Strangers don’t deserve the inside of my soul.