It's very difficult to find what to write about.
Hearing the perfect song at the perfect time and the dread of seeing a beautiful face in the wrong light are two very different feelings and somehow I manage to feel both at the same time.
Confusing enough as it is writing seems to be a depressant for me.
Writing might be the most uneventful and annoying form of self harm I choose to inflict upon myself and if it will get your attention I don't think I will stop.
Though often writing has many ways it could be taken.
Which is rarely the direction I intended it.
Many seem to think that's the best thing about words. That they're open to be thought about. They have the ability to be contorted. What they mean is based only on the reader.
But I think I'd like to be understood rather than heard.
Which I suppose is a good thing. If my worst pain in life is that I'm a bit lonely I'd take that over many more devastating options.
And who is ever understood?
To understand is to know. I know how to be angry. But I don't know your exact anger.
It's an entirely different matter.
And to be fair I'm inclined to believe it's impossible.
