First line prompt #3

“The house wasn’t the same to her anymore…”

She looked upon it broken shutters and dirt ridden windows with angst. How did this happen? It only had been a few months since she left the city, abandoned everything she cared about. And the house reflected the neglect. No one she knew bothered to keep up with it anymore? She could only imagine what was waiting for her once she got inside. The thought of creatures scurrying across the floor made her skin crawl. What a tragedy. The grass had grown up, filtering through the cracks and crevices of the fence, the wood warped and rotting away. The walkway barely visible; she needed to take a weed eater to this growing jungle. The buzzing of locusts and other bugs hidden in the greenery filled her ears as she tried to unlatch the rusted gate. Once she was successful, she used her feet to clear the sidewalk of debris. Broken tree limbs and empty water bottles she knocked to the left and right of her. She may not be able to handle what’s waiting inside. 

Once, she lived in this home. She took care of this house, haunted with too many ghosts of her past. Eventually she got tired of the voices taunting her, packed up her things and disappeared. She entrusted her best friend to at least drive by to make sure no one was squatting inside. Turns out she was lying about the condition of her old home. It wasn’t until the homeowner’s association finally got a hold of her to tell her she had to come back and handle it. They threatened to tear it down; she should have let them but something compelled her to at least try. Maybe the voices were gone by now. 

She was startled to see that the Victorian styled door knob was polished and shiny. She hesitated, curious as to why this was the only clean item on the whole entire home. And who would take the time to clean just the door knob. She almost knocked, worried that someone was here but how could that be? The thought motivated her to push the door open. The scent of clean laundry almost sent her running back out the door to the sidewalk. She gulped, trying not to gasp, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. A cognac leather sectional perfectly centered in front of a 60 inch LED television, a throw folded neatly over the arm. Living rooms walls white as snow were decorated with tiny framed mirrors. She used the front door as support. She felt faint from the sheer shock. The stairs were polished. The carpet fresh and so clean you could sleep on it. She almost reached over to see how soft it felt but a sound from the kitchen caught her attention. 

“Surprised?” a baritone voice echoed down the hallway. 

What could she say? She was too astonished to voice any kind of opinion. How could any of this be possible? And who in the hell was this man in her home? 

“Your friend sold me this place. Said that you up and left it to leave some voices behind. Well, are they gone?”

She hadn’t even noticed. 

“You can come in here if you like. I’m harmless. Don’t even own a gun. Are you armed? Hell, I wouldn’t be mad if you were. You come here to find out that this place isn’t abandoned at all and that a strange man has moved in at made it his own…you know what? I’ll just come to you.” 

She scrambled, suddenly alert, hands fidgeting at the door handle to escape. She didn’t want to see this man, didn’t want to witness that someone else made this home. She needed to leave but it was too late.

“Oh no don’t go. Shit I’ve scared you senseless. I mean I didn’t expect you just to just pop up here. She was supposed to be interfering with the homeowner’s association and…”

She quickly turned towards him, feeling him reach out to touch her elbow. He jerked his hand away, regretting the notion. First thing she noticed about him was how much taller he was than she. If she had to guess, he was about 6’5. Second, he had the softest brown eyes she had ever seen. He wore khaki dress pants and a white t-shirt. No shoes. No socks. Very clean feet. A perfect shade of brown skin. Very clean and flawless face as if he wore makeup. How did he end up here?

“Uh…” she coughed to clear her throat, “what the hell?”

He looks at the floor with laughter, flashing the shiniest, whitest smile. “Yeah I haven’t worked out in the yard yet. I was still gathering materials to tackle that…insanity…out there. Shits crazy right? I don’t even know where to begin.”

He waves his hands around as he tries to find the words to explain the yard. She looks upon him in amazement. She needed so many answers. She needed to punch her friend in the face for keeping this from her. She glanced over the living room once again, loving the look, that something so modern came from him. He follows her gaze slowly, opens his mouth, ready to explain but before he could mutter a word, a stream of questions,

“Who are you? How the hell did you move into my house? What did my friend actually tell you prior to you moving all your shit? Did you really expect me not to return? Did you not think this could possibly be a dick move on your part?”

Soft brown eyes blink. “Well I’m Patrick. I know you’re Bre, Veronica did tell me that. She also told me that you left the house under her care and when she couldn’t take care of it anymore, she told me I could. It is a beautiful place I couldn’t let it go to shit. I threw her a few grand before I moved in. She made it seem like you knew something about it but by your actions…I guess not.”

He fixed his mouth to say something else but shut it. She could see he felt shitty about it all but he didn’t know what else to do or say. Maybe if she didn’t stand like a frightened doe, he would try to make her feel at ease a little bit. Awkwardly they stood in the entry way, avoiding eye contact. Now she was feeling shitty for her behavior towards him. It wasn’t his fault that she wasn’t truly filled in on what was going on. Besides, she left this place to rot. He wasn’t going to allow it. She should show him some appreciation for that at least. She lightly pushed herself from off the door and relaxed her shoulders. 

“Patrick? I’m sorry. I – I just don’t know how to respond to all of this and it’s not your fault. Uh the place? It looks wonderful I expected the worst from outside but when I walked in, it took my breath away. All of it I mean it’s really beautiful…”

She trailed off as she saw him beam from the compliments. She also couldn’t get over how beautiful he was. Her thoughts began to wonder about his marital status or if he had a family. Who thought she would come here and discover all of this, discover him? 

“I’ll give you grand tour.” He escorted her into the living room, after removing her shoes at the door, and told her of his journey to his new home. 

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She leads heavy hearted full of affections and angst everyday working so hard not to break to trip the weight can be too much tears live on her lids clouding her vision clouding her judgement like a veil 
She tries to stay protected deflecting persons impure nothing is good enough to the untrained eye so I, I mean, she believes to stay safe she must be in a place alone how could anyone ever know 
Torn and detrimental trying not to lose her mental trying not to lose her heart aching for a touch just one touch from her only…lonely and weary but waiting…

Dear Prudence

“And when we pick up class on Monday, we will go over chapter 23 in the textbook so please, try to read the chapter before you go out with your friends. Enjoy your weekend. And please read the chapter!”
​I hear my professor faintly say as I daze out the window. He lies closely next to me, his heat radiating onto my left arm. He’s like my own sunbeam; I felt dangerously close and was going to catch aflame. But it was worth the ten degree burns. I stretch my fingers to trace the nearly invisible lines on his skin. Chairs scraped and screeched against the floor as the class was dismissed. He looked upon me intensively, studying. He’s exquisite right here in this moment. Students shuffle and laugh pass my desk. I felt that this philosophy class was such a waste of my life. I spent most of my freshman year avoiding the prerequisite but my advisor finally demised my plan. As much as I try to pay attention, I can’t help but get lost in my thoughts and fantasies. Couldn’t help but get lost in him…

​”Dear Prudence…” A new voice faintly disturbs my daydream, “Won’t you come out to play?”

​I chuckle, with the song now sound tracking a pair of deep brown eyes gazing into mine. I lean closer to him, yearning for his lips to brush mine.

​”Dear Prudence,” the voice is now identified as my confidant’s, “Greet the brand new day.”

​He’s fading now, my friend distracting me with a classic Beatle’s song…which is what she usually sings to me when I’m off in my land.

​I sigh, “Why must you interrupt me?”

​”Because the next class is about to start Prudence.” She sing-songs as I roll my eyes. “Here. I already packed your bag if you haven’t noticed.”

​Of course I didn’t notice. She knows who I’m thinking of while I stare out into nothing. The solitary object of my affection and desires. He was someone I hardly knew, someone that I gushed and guffawed over in my chemistry class. We spoke here and there about random things. Once he glanced over my phone and saw that I was listening to Miles Davis while we stood outside the classroom, waiting for our class to begin. He told me about the first time he listened to Miles and I nearly passed out from shear shock. He held the door open for me as I was exiting my favorite sushi place. He smiled and offered to eat with me next time we happened to be there at the same time. He always complimented my Vans collection. When he walked by my desk in class, he would tap me twice on the shoulder. It’s the little things…but that was the extent of our relationship: passing by occurrences. He didn’t have a girlfriend and you never saw him really hanging out with a bunch of girls. His exclusivity seemed so apparent to me but Jane, my Beatle tune toting best friend, didn’t see it. She perceived him to be douchey and antisocial, abrasive because he really didn’t hang around. He had a group of four friends that he stuck to, left campus as soon as he does with classes, and only dealt with his classmates if it was about school work. He wasn’t super popular but also wasn’t casted out.

​“Have you seen him yet today?” Jane asks as we trek across campus. We were heading to our favorite hangout, a giant oak tree that casted glorious shade about this time in the afternoon.

​“No. I usually don’t see him on Wednesdays, which is weird if I think about it…I mean I’ve seen him in my day dreams…”

​“He lives in your day dreams…”

​“Yes thank God for my vivid imagination.”

​We throw our book bags down along the roots. Jane pulls out her phone and bluetooth speaker to play some City and Colour. The sun rests on me, reminding me of my dream earlier and I fight falling back. Jane doesn’t mind my day dreaming when we’re in class or when I’m alone but I dare not dream about him while we’re having quality b.f.f time. A few of our friends walk by and wave, ask what we’re doing for the weekend and carry on. The weather was beautiful enough to distract kids from the classroom; they gather in groups to talk, toss around a football, and pick up random games of soccer. Jane and I laugh, talk about what we could do Saturday night and dread our schedule for the rest of the day.

​“Crap it’s already two? Where did the time go?”

​“To the clouds.” I smirk.

​“You don’t have class, right?” I shake my head no. “Are you going to stay here?” I nod. “Ok well I will leave you the speaker. I’ll see you when I get done.”

​I tingle with excitement as she runs across the grass, shouting after someone that’s in her next class. Now that she’s gone…I nuzzle into the tree’s trunk, letting the wind slip me back into where I want to be.

​“Can we stay like this for a while?” He asks faintly. Goosebumps wave up and down my arms, my legs, as I fight back a smile.

​“We can do whatever we want. I’ll do whatever you want.” My voice cracks.

​He chuckles while he turns his body towards me, propping himself on his arm. I feel small underneath his stare that I try not to blush. We lie on a blanket on the floor of my dorm room. I saw him standing outside of the humanities building, speaking to one of his friends. I grew the courage to ask him to come with me, back to my room, and he actually said yes. Now here we are, just looking at each other, with hesitant breaths and hushed words. What are we hiding from?

​“I think you’re so beautiful. You make it hard to focus on chem work. I’ve been waiting for a moment like this.”

​I smile bashfully. “Yeah I understand what you mean. I’ve had a crush on you for so long. I don’t know what came over me when I asked you to come back to my room but…but I’m glad that I did it. All I’ve ever wanted to do was just spend some time with you.”

​We smile and laugh awkwardly. The confessions made the atmosphere thick with tension. What now? Now that it’s out in the universe how we feel about each other, what happens next?

​“Can I ask you something?”

​“Yeah?”

​He looks towards the floor with a crooked grin, “Uh…,” and shakes his head, “maybe not…”

​Without effort, I sit up, my hand suddenly on his shoulder. “What is it?” Please ask the question. But he continues to stare down at the blanket, fiddling with the fabric.

​“I was wondering if I…,” he mumbles, “If I could…”

​Someone is kicking my foot as I come out of my day dream. Who the hell?! As I snap to, I look up to a familiar face, familiar brown eyes. I gasp loudly, adjusting my back along the trunk.

​“Hey there little lady. What were you thinking about?” Bryce asks, smiling down at me, as if he knows it was about him the whole time. “I’ve been calling your name for a while now.”

​Out of sheer embarrassment I laugh heartily, afraid that it could be obvious that in some sorcery way he knew my day dream was all about him. “Dude you scared the crap out of me! I don’t know I get tied up in all sorts of things up here,” I jab at my temple. Be cool man, be cool. “How are you? What are you doing up here? You don’t have class do you?” I knew the answer but it was a good distraction from the heat on my face.

​“Oh yeah…I don’t uh…I don’t know my friend told me to meet him up here but he’s still in class. I saw you sitting here all alone so I thought maybe I could keep you company for a bit since you know…we really don’t get to talk for too long.”

​I beam, pulling up blades of grass around the roots, honored that he would even want to spend more than five minutes next to me. It may not be exactly what I’ve imagined but it was good enough. He sat on the root to the left of me, his heat radiating next to my skin. He is my own personal sunbeam, reflecting light and warmth. He snatches my phone from my lap, flipping through my music. He selects “Rocker” by Miles Davis, a personal favorite of mine, and begins to ask about my day.

You’ll never be him. 

It was their fifth date and she still didn’t feel all that comfortable with him. It was hard doing the things she used to do with her ex in a relationship this fresh. So far they kept it simple with coffee dates and a lunch in the park. Today he wanted to do lunch then visit a museum. She lingered behind him, watching him strut as he reached behind him to pull out his cellphone. She wondered what he was doing as she looked at his Vans roll over the pavement. 

“Want to look at the menu?” He looks over his shoulder at her, catching her checking him out. He grins, “What are you doing back there?”

“Nothing…” she chuckles, “yeah let me get a look at that menu.”

They were trecking through a small Montrose neighborhood, ducking and dodging low hanging tree branches and bushes that lined the sidewalks. She quickens her pace to walk beside him. She likes that he looks at menus before he ate like her. I mean she does like him, but he’ll never be him. No one will. The dudes before him she couldn’t connect with. No matter where they went or what they did, she couldn’t get past a few weeks with them. This dude is a little different. The brisk air whips around her face. It makes her shiver. Without a moments notice, he pulls her closer to him. She couldn’t resist to smile. Something else she liked about him. She scrolls up and down the menu, gawking at how pricey the plates were. 

“Are you sure about this place?”

He laughs lightly. “I knew you were going to ask. It’s fine; get whatever your stomach desires. No price too large today.”

She glares up at him, suspicious as to why he would spend this much money on a lunch. Maybe he is just trying to show off, which is unnecessary. She’s never been that type of girl. And it’s only their fifth date. 

“What are you doing dude?” She asks slowly, ready to interrogate. 

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just treating you to lunch, no biggie. Don’t make this into a thing.”

You don’t know me.

She continues to glare at him. He cracks up as soon as he catches her glare. It comes from deep in his stomach. She liked the way he laughed. As he tries to catch his breath, they stop in front of a quaint building that technically looked like someone’s home. No name or address on the building. She continues to glare, lips pursed to hold back her own laughter, and he grabs her by the shoulders. 

“Look, if you want, we can go somewhere else. Although we’re right here. I mean we’ve walked a few blocks…and it’s a nice day out. I told you not to make anything out of it. But there you are, glaring at me like I’m about to take advantage of you. You’re so silly.” 

His laughter has finally subsided. She liked that he could see through her silliness. She also liked his caramel skin. In the sunlight, it glows, making him look majestic. Along with that smile, he dazzled. He runs his thumb along her jawline, knowing it would make her blush. No he wasn’t him but he made her feel good. She thought that she would never get that feeling again from someone. She liked that about him. 

“Okay,” she sighs, “let’s go inside and see if it’s worth the money yeah?” 

He smiles. “Good.”

He starts up the walkway and she follows behind him, watching him saunter up to the door. He glances back at her again, enjoying the fact that she watches him walk. And she does it so entitivley. What is she thinking about while she does that, he wonders. 

The lunch was magnificent, which she wasn’t expecting by the looks of the place. Where in the hell was the kitchen that produced these amazing plates in this tiny home? They were full to the brim and were questioning should they even bother walking back to the car, let alone walking the museum. He ordered more drinks and offered her desert. 

“Dude really? You honestly think that I could eat another bite of anything? I’m about to struggle with this glass of wine.”

“Hey I just wanted to throw it out there. They had a slice of cake that caught my eye…thought maybe you’d want to share. So how are you feeling about the museum?”

She takes a sip from her glass. “I don’t know. Can we not sit her for a moment and just chill? Oh and if you’re really about the cake order it. We can take our time…”

Shortly, a chunk of carrot cake appeared before them. With a sly smirk, he announces, “I already ordered it.”

They laugh as they reach for the desert forks that the waitress placed in front of them. He wasn’t like him, no. He could lie back and converse. And they had lovely conversations. They could talk about anything and he held such useless knowledge that she didn’t know about that she stayed intrigued. Between nibbles, bites and sips, they learned more about each other. Simple things like favorite colors, if they had one artist or musician they could be friends with who, personal goals, and argued about who the better boy band was. She always found herself beyond pleased with their conversations. She watched the way his mouth moved with certain words, how he would smile when she asked him a question he wasn’t expecting, how he gazed upon her when she spoke of something she cared about. God you’re not him…could you be better than him? But it was too soon for her to think about that. This was only date five…no telling what could happen within the next few weeks. They might not even make it to date six or seven. Just stop and enjoy the now. 

She took the fork to the plate to get the leftover icing and bits of cake. He smacked her hand as it went towards her mouth but she never lost her grip.

“Hey! Who said you could have the last bit of the cake?!” 

She giggled as she licked the cream cheese icing away from her lips. “Oh you wanted that?”

“That’s my favorite part.” He smacked her hand again. 

“Ow! Hey!” She smacked his hand in return. “You ate most of the cake anyways.”

“But you were too full remember?”

“Hence why I ate the scraps.”

“Along with little bites here and there.”

“You did say share.”

He went to smack her hand again but she moved it in time for him to miss. Soon they were in a full slap hand battle. They giggled and yelped as they smacked each others hands. It went on for about a minute before he was out of breath from laughter. Soon the waiteress came around the corner with the bill, as if she was done with their cute banter. She reached for her wallet but he stopped her. She then remembered he said that lunch was on him. Maybe she will buy him some drinks later. After he settled the check, he grabbed her hand to help her stand and escorted her out of the tiny restaurant with a gleeful smile. He was thoroughly enjoying her company and wasn’t afraid to show it. He wore his smile like a badge of honor. 

Once they approached The Menil, their atmosphere changed to more calm, relaxed. They walked towards the entrance side by side, his fingers gently tangling themselves into hers. Her fingertips tingled in excitement. The day that began mostly groggy turned into sunshine and beauty, the crisp wind still flowing through her hair. They decided to do a roundabout around the building. It made her think of him, all the times they just circled the building in the summer, talking and admiring each other. She rubs her right arm in comfort, thinking about what he could be doing right now in this moment. She missed him like crazy but he kept pushing her to do other things with other people. All he wanted for her was to live her life without him. She really tried but in most cases, she bailed, not ready. She hated for it being that way and no matter how hard she tried to fight, the ex kept her attention. She rubbed her arm in rememberance. And before she could fall in anymore, he swoops her up in a strong embrace. Sometimes she wondered if he could read her that well or if she was showing too much face. 

For some reason, The Menil was like a library, influencing you to whisper or to be silent. So they don’t speak as they voyage through the galleries, sheepishly smiling at each other and grazing each other as they past. She stood and watched him gaze upon a piece she was familiar with and wondered what he was thinking. She took in his stature and height, admiring his build. He stood at 6’4, not too skinny but not too muscular, long and thickish. He turned to the piece on the adjacent wall; her eyes follow. She wondered if she could really fall for someone without always comparing them to her past. It was an inner battle that she was constantly fighting. Never intentional…just hard to know something else. Eventually, he pulled himself from his thoughts from the art on the walls, feeling her eyes studying him. He wiggles his fingers down by his left side, anticipating hers. Soon, they’re about his and they navigate to the next room. She meekly blushes as he looks down upon her with admiration. He could voyage a museum with her for days on end. 

Was it possible to already like someone like this so soon? The things she was doing to his body, to his heart was so new to him that it felt damn near imaginary. As if he was dreaming or high. He was swelling up with infatuation and lust, any tiny touch could make him burst. That’s why he hasn’t kissed her yet. He knew once he did, he would explode into a blue cloud of magic. She made him feel dizzy on what love could feel like. It was all too brand new. He never knew a girl could make him feel this good. 

They jammed Sugarcult’s first album on the way back to her car. Not wanting to embarrass herself after such a nice outing, she just hummed along, proving that she knew this album like the back of her hand. He kept looking over to her, impressed that she even remembered this album let alone the band. He swells up even more. There’s a slight awkward moment once he’s pulled up behind her car. She unfastened her seatbelt and turns towards him, getting ready to hug him good bye. Arms ready, he wants to turn and kiss her on the cheek. She goes in, thanking him for the day. The timing is off and he ends up kissing her ear. She jumps to the unexpected attempt and ends up head butting him. They both his in pain. 

“Jeeeeesus. Sorry about that..” She runs the side of her head. “Did you mean to kiss my ear?”

Flushed, he mumbles, “No I was trying to kiss your cheek. Sorry…shitty timing…”

The pain subsides and she’s cracking up. He was still too embarrassed to find the humor in what happened. She notices and grabs him by the chin.

“Hey it’s ok. Look,” she turns his head slightly to the right and places a gentle kiss upon his cheek. “See how easy that is.” She smiles, stifling a snicker. He can’t hide behind his red cheeks any longer. He looks down at his lap, trying to escape the light behind her eyes but she doesn’t allow it. She lifts his head, making him stay eye to eye with her. Suddenly, tension was building in the car, making the air dense. A smile played about her lips as she inched closer to his mouth. “And this will be just as easy…” And with not with the slightest bit of hesitation, she kisses him. And he doesn’t explode into a blue cloud. 

Separation Anxiety

She wasn’t ready to endure the next few months without him. She was about to enter a new phase of loneliness. She wasn’t prepared for this; she knew the day would eventually happen but not this soon. She spent most of the day holding back tears, hating herself for getting so upset over it but they don’t get it. This person made her feel so good, made her so happy and she was about to lose it. She was about to lose a bit of her happiness. 

“You just don’t know how much I’m going to miss you.” She mumbles loud enough for him to hear. 

She hears him smile as he says, “awww…stop it.” 

He reaches around her shoulders to embrace her. His fragrance fills her nostrils and she inhales deeply. As he pressed his cold lips to her forehead, she sighs with a smile. She loved it the most when he kissed her forehead. Things were about to change, hopefully for the better. But she knew that maybe if things changed for the bad that he will, somehow, still be around. At least that’s what she had to tell herself to prevent from breaking down. 

We suffer silently and separately

Seeking each other through pages of information and social interaction

Fear reaching out makes us seem vulnerable and weak

Fear that it makes us seem desperate

Don’t you miss her don’t you miss him?

Dont you want her don’t you want him?

Of course we do but we hide behind these screens afraid to be seen

Afraid to be naked

My love/hate relationship with journaling

I’m constantly picking up and abandoning my journal ever since I started writing. Something about reliving a (to me) stupid/dumbass moment when I go back to an earlier time in my life makes me realize how pointless all my thoughts and actions are/were. Nothing like reliving the train of thoughts that led to a fight or nothingness…I mean I will truly get upset all over again to something that happened a year ago. And my dates gap. Sometimes I go at least 4-5 months without journaling until something that I can’t escape my cranium needs to be scribbled down at 1 a.m. Sometimes a year. 

It seems to me that when you keep the same thoughts in your head, it’s almost as if you’re talking to yourself. And it’s all one sided. And it’s always shit we think of when a pen and pad isn’t available. Driving. Busy at work. On a date. We journal to analyze and come to conclusions or just to get ideas out for future projects. But eventually, somewhere down the line, all those old conclusions and theories seem like the dumbest shit you ever thought about so you get rash. Soon the thought: I’m gonna burn this damn book, is the greatest idea ever. Destroy the evidence. Hurry before its discovered and I’m forever ridiculed for being such a dumb cunt. 

Sometimes I see repetition. Something that happened 8 months ago is suddenly happening again but with someone else in another city at a different job. Which makes you feel like you digress. Which makes you feel even worse. Did I not grow up? Did I seriously not analyze and conclude this shit already? Then how the fuck am I doing this again? They claim that’s insanity…but I think in order to be a creative, let alone a writer, you kind of have to be insane. This lifestyle isn’t easy I don’t give a fuck what anyone says. If they think it’s easy, then it’s crap. Ask that lady who wrote 50 Shades…

So eventually, I want to start all over. New journal. New tablet. Hopefully new thoughts and theories and ideas. Let’s abandon that last one I mean…it’s just a ghost waiting to haunt you, remind you of all your faults. It becomes part of the pile. My journal currently lives under my bed like the boogie man, collecting dust. I will see it there lying there, taunting me, peeking from up underneath my bed. You know you want to come back, it says to me. Nah fuck you right now is what I say back. But it knows. It knows eventually the noise in my head is going to get too loud, consistent, and irritating that I will have to go back to it. 

I rely on it for peace and quiet. Because no sort of social media outlet in the world will make you feel comfortable enough to spill it all. Not one tumblr, livejournal, or xanga account. Admit it all those sites are just a front. If you try hard enough, you’ll gather of followers who “understands” you. I quote that because on your tumblr/livejournal/xanga you’re still not telling it all. No you say things about your life that’s appealing to the followers. Hence why they are who they are. You give about 30% at first, to test the waters, see what people will like or say. Once feedback is good enough, you give more and more until you’re about at 75%. No one goes past 90%…that’s  pushing it. Because all in all, it’s still the Internet. Not everyone is nice. And we all want to obtain a small ounce of privacy and self.

So we spend the money on these pretty covered books with nice ass lined/unlined paper to make it seem official. Journaling is a hobby. All of my precious memories and flow of words exist in this beautifully bound jail cell where I think no one can get in and these incidents can’t get out. Unless you want them to. That’s for you to decide. But don’t like it’s not a small bit of hell. Don’t act like you consistently enjoy penning your emotional hell onto the trees. Sometimes it’s wonderful but damn as much as it is wonderful, it can be god awful. I will end a journal entry in the middle of a thought because eventually I get tired of hearing my own damn voice. And because my damn hand is cramping like no other. Fuck it I throw down my pen, slam that book shut and slide it back to its home. And try again in a few months.