this is me. this is what i don't say. this is what i try not to think. this is trite. this is what no one cares about.
at the end of the day this is for me. i don't know why i'm doing it online instead of in a notebook. maybe it's the digital age and this is easier than a notebook. or maybe it's a need for attention. or maybe it's because i don't want it to be secret anymore. sure this is *anonymous*. but it's still not just in my head. or not on some pages in book locked away in trunk, collecting mold and dust and roach-eaten corners.
i feel like i have enough mold, dust and roach-eaten corners already.
here's to me. here's to you. here's to remembering and coming out whole on the other side.