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I'm tired of words, words that never fit, too many of them, ultimately void and meaningless; tired of listening to myself, tired of going through the same circles I thought I'd left behind...

And at this point my inadequacy makes me feel... embarrassed, ashamed; I'm no longer comfortable just pouring everything out like I used to do, without the least regard or concern for anyone reading this journal, which, I guess, might be a good thing? Learning some social skills at last?


This isn't supposed to be some grand dramatic good-bye post, though, because as likely as not I'll snap out of it, or adjust, or perhaps will have changed my mind by next week, but at the moment....


... writing is kind of painful.

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schnecke
solitary_summer
solitary summer

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