where things get sticky in the summer
I want to take this time to acknowledge the fact that I haven’t been thinking about the past very much lately and that seems like it may be more of a bad thing than a good thing, and then again, it may seem like neither bad nor good. And actually maybe more good than bad. I don’t know where exactly this is going. Sometimes I wish someone could read the things I write with the same intent with which we are engrossed in a really, really good novel. Where we pick apart the words and really consider what they mean in the grander context. The majority of my life, I felt like no one was ever really hearing what I was saying - and then people go around saying and thinking I’m really shy or introverted but the truth is I just don’t feel like I’m very important or that I should be heard most of the time.
I feel really detached from the past and that scares me. Like I have nothing, no history, to grasp onto. I almost feel as if my memories have been very slowly dissipating and then suddenly, in the past year, without my noticing, decided to just *poof* disappear.