I rechoose these choices every morning. With my coffee and small wicker chair, a brush of this blush to fake the rush of blood I used to feel with you.

And for the most part, I am very happy.

I stopped finding new music, because all I want to hear are sad songs, and they ruin me. So I listen to Hot 97.

If ever I were to hear a melody as soft and slow as my truth, I would lose the ability to forget again.

I don’t have knickknacks, or heart tapping playlists, I don’t go thrifting, I haven’t many friends…
I’ve ransacked my life and thrown everything out.

Because I was changed by you.

Because I had to relearn to live without.

Because my heart couldn’t take it anymore.

If I am a post-war survivor, then my work and my comfort are my bunker and I’ve seen too much to come back out.

I have a new love now. A different love. A stable and constant love. I don’t have songs written for me and I never cry. There’s a trade-off.

I laugh a lot though.

There aren’t highs and lows. There are highs and middle ground, and there is security. I don’t think there’s enough weight on security. Without it, the lows are too terrifying, and the highs too unstable.

And if he leaves, if this ends, then I will be lost, in Western Jersey, and I will be single for a long time.

And I’ll go thrifting.

And refind pieces of me that were once you, and him, and everyone else.

And I’ll remember when you knew me, when I was that person, when I knew me…
and I’ll wonder where she went.

And I’ll remember the warm room with the good energy, and the space next to the bed, and the day I didn’t take it.

And how much better off we both are for it.


Post 1,607

Nothing in here should ever be read, by anyone. A long time ago I started writing in here when I was overly emotional, and apparently I still do. Like most emotions, all of the exclamation points in here follow things I don’t feel anymore.

What’s left are the things that are too good to be brought up in this dirty space.

Living in Belmar, my job, Mark, my family (NO PARTICULAR ORDER). These are the frames of my happiness, they are stable pieces of my life.

But all the bullshit about feeling sad or crazy or however I worded it- that’s just the repurcussions of making bad decisions for a long time. I really think I write those things in here because I’ve been writing like that in here for so long. Coming in here is like visiting an old crack den, you instantly get the urge to hurt yourself again.

Anyway, I don’t want to sit around talking about sad feelings. I don’t mean those things. I don’t listen to sad music, I’m not trying to watch sad movies, and I’m not journaling like a tween anymore. This blog is an embarassment to me. It’s riddled with immaturity, spelling mistakes and shitty metaphors. This is nothing.

So I’m leaving this space for good. That’s not some huge proclamation, it’s just time to leave this place alone.
This journal chronicles highschool, Lee, and everything else until now. And that’s fine for memory’s sake, but…

I have not written a single thing I am proud about in here, ever. I do not know how to. I am happy everywhere in life, except for when I am in here.

So I am not going to be in here.

And that’s as much of a burial as this place deserves.

Plus, how un-mid-20-something is it to have a secret WordPress?