Two Minutes to Post (Updated).

I have to write quickly because I have to get back to some english homework. It’s the first time I’ve had any desire to write in  few days so I’m jumping regardless of the time constraint. And I don’t want to forget this thought train.

“How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” E.M. Forrester

In a place where I feel like everything I’ve ever thought I’ve known has come into question, where I doubt everything, reconsider everything, and reevaluate everything, I’ve learned that I make sense of all of these things best by writing through them. I feel like I’ve been doing you all a disservice by writing somewhere other than my blog. It’s hard. I hate to be cryptic because I know how annoying it is to dance around what I’m trying to say when I like to believe I guarantee honesty. So, if you stick with me, I might muster up a bit of courage to be honest here and with myself and you all. I’m sorting and thinking and feeling and don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling or know.

I do know that I just had a perfect cup of hot chocolate at Art Six. I know that I very much miss you. I know that I wish I could see you everyday. I know that I’ve found a wonderful place for myself. I know that the sunset tonight was beautiful. I know that I’m enjoying the chilly breeze as I type this. I know that I’ve been feeling pretty lousy and lonely. I know that I feel like I don’t have much of anyone around right now, even though I know that I, in fact, do. Very much so, too. I know that I still manage to feel very alone despite that bit of knowledge. I know that it doesn’t feel like enough. I know I’m trying to be okay with that and realize that I’m not you, and that I very much need you. I know that I’m still being very cryptic. I know that some of you will read this the wrong way. I know that if you ask me about all of this, I probably won’t care to answer. I know that you think you know what’s best for me. I know you think you know me. I know that I don’t exactly know me. I know that I’m searching for answers for myself. I know that you don’t realize you’re being hurtful, but you are. I know you think you’re showing concern, but it makes it worse. I know that I’m breathing and thinking and feeling and loving and wanting and caring and hoping and doubting and missing and questioning and hurting and worrying, and I know that I am very much alive.


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