everything collide.

December 16th, 2010.

I like to believe you’re out there, somewhere, thinking these thoughts and feeling these feelings. I like to close my eyes and pretend I’m holding you, and you’re looking back at me with those heavy eyes like you used to. You hug me tightly and let me hold on those few extra seconds because you know I need this moment to last. 

Like a photograph, it’s a snapshot in time; one I secretly carry with me in the back of my mind. It’s better if it’s a secret…it’s my secret weapon. Reality isn’t what it used to be, anymore. Times are tough and everyone is desperately trying to hold onto every bit of hope, of redemption, of feeling.

In these moments of uncertainty I feel you with me. I know you’re not here, and I’m not there, and no one’s really sure if we’re where we’re supposed to be. But I feel you near. And I’m still holding you to the very last second.

(I hope you can feel me, too.)

I used to keep a blog of some sorts a really long time ago. And I’ve really forgotten how good it can feel to just write all your feelings out without judgment. So today, I’ve decided to do just that.

A lot has happened this past year. I’ve lost a lot of people who’ve I’ve always regarded close to me. I’ve had friendship problems for as long as I can remember. I was picked on all through grade school, and it wasn’t until high school that i finally found really great friends. Once university came, however, things change and people move on and you find this once perfect world you used to live in just comes crashing down and you’re left to face this new independent environment alone. 

I lost touch with some good friends, and made some new ones. I dont know what it is about me but every time i get close to someone I always get hurt. Especially with my friendships. I have yet to really find someone I can call my best friend. I want nothing more than to have someone I could talk to about anything, hang out any time, or someone who just cares to know what i’m doing. It sounds so easy, but it really isn’t. 

Writing used to get me through, maybe it will again.