*Dark Star*
If I told you where I've been
Would you still call me baby?
And if I told you everything
Would you call me crazy?
I don't know when I stopped writing. When I stopped feeling the need to put words on feelings. I don't know why either.
I've been reading this blog back and damn, did I write some beautiful things in the past. Now I overthink it, I suffocate my words in unanswered questions and insuniations. I wonder who will read them, and who will understand. Who will see through them, who will overread them.
I used to be a free-writer. Let it flow, let it go. Now I hold back, words that are written cannot be undone. I used to like this idea, that each post here would be snow-globe moment, encapsulating a time and place. Now I look at my dusty shelves pilled up with broken bits of my heart, and bottled storms brewing bitterly, and I wonder was it really worth it, to keep it all around like that? Sure, in despair I wrote meaningful words, but now reading back it feels like my past was a long windy road paved with sadness.
It wasn't.
I didn't think this through, I didn't think future me would be saddened by past me. I didn't think this would give such a gloom overview of my life.
Maybe I should change my approach to writing.
Maybe I should only write when I'm happy.
I can't write everything anymore.