Damn

Over and over I go off on my own and I think about everything. Who I am, who I've been and who I will be.

Essentially the big picture. And, after I run through it all in my head. I realize the full extent of my sadness..

All the optimism I worked so hard for, falls away like petals being plucked from a flower. Delicate pieces that took so long to grow, only to be harshly stripped away from a stem and left to die.

Then I find a journal, whether elaborate or a special simple one hiding away on the corner of a shelf. I attempt to write and I proceed to record the events of that day or/and all the thoughts about who I am, who I've been and who I will be.

I spend the next few days recording my moments, my thoughts, what keeping a journal means to me.

And then I never write in it again.

Here I am, once more, starting a journal I know I may very well never complete. Earlier today, I recognized the full extent of my sadness for god knows how many times.

I let it flush the luxuries, the forced happiness and the dreams away. I was pure. I bought this journal because it reminded me of natured, quiet, accuracy. The power to be killed by such a weapon feels beautiful.

However, I've come to realize that this sadness isn't triggered by anything. It did not require to be activated. It was only there, always, if only I just looked.

There I continue to say that I am pure. I write simple and calm, making no corrections.

I've made mistakes.

I've now worked myself up only to find that I have nothing more to say. Nothing profound or meaningful...

That's it.

My life has led me to this and I have nothing to say.