although not particularly poetically special, i chose the above as the starter for this journalism series. specifically because it came from a drug dealer. it wasn't the statement itself but who it came from. i've been attempting to push myself to start journaling as i fear forgetting life but also just as a way to practice a good life. to study it.
i went to the "beach" at a camp ground today with some people who i wasn't properly close with, and left with what should've been sun poisoning. it's days like this that remind me i'm still alive and i choose how i live and i am my own person. they remind me why it's worth it.
the way our skin danced in the sun, and our hair kissed the wind...shrill laughter as we exposed ourselves through accident. the way we pushed each other off of the floaty i stole from a child
i'm still alive, i can still feel something other than aching.
YOU ARE READING
things i wanted to say but never did
Non-Fictiona journal. the title of each chapter is just the prompt. i don't actually know what to call this. pls don't expose who i am unless i say so.
