I can write things better than I can ever say them. Which seems oxymoronic, for someone who can talk and talk for hours on end without stopping to catch her breath, but it's true. Even if the thoughts don't stop swimming through my mind, i stumble as soon as my lips part and I try to say them aloud, my mind blanks and I freeze up and then I burst into tears. I can count on one hand the number of times I have said anything heartfelt to my friends here at university, and recall a particularly embarrassing incident where I literally broke down in public, turning into a sobbing, crying, neurotic mess. How disgracefully the stone walls crumble, how disgusting it is to see a warrior fall!
This is what I used to blog for; I'm starting to remember now. Writing my issues out before me was a way for me to comb through them, to acknowledge that they are real. A little reminder to myself that there are still so many idiotic, immature things about myself that need to be fixed even though I have good days where I feel like I can take on the world, a nagging voice at the back of my mind that echoes through, reminding me that I can't always be happy, despite the front I put up. That no matter how many people I have around me, how many friends we have around us, we all walk this world alone; it's our own path to make and perhaps two entwining roads might meet by chance. Yet there's a part of me that can't help but hope that there will be a few people who, while walking different paths from mine, will run into me more often than not; maybe to stop for a casual chat, or motivate each other to get through the tough times. I don't believe in togetherness as I do in companionship, and there's a big difference between alone and lonely, and I can't help but wish that one day I can speak the words...
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