via deitra- 24 going on 17(again)

i remember the time wayyyy the hell back when i used to be super into my writing. where i used to fill up notebook upon notebook of random poetry, and musings, and i thought that i'd never know more than i did when i was 17.

that every sense i had was so particularly unique and sublime. i thought. it's easy to be the center of your own universe when you don't really give a damn about anyone else.

i lost track of time back then, and realized one day that it had been 4 years since i had written anything, and that my whole life had changed. that the boy i wrote about through high school who was "so near, yet so far" was 14 hours away now, and raising someone else's baby. that i almost got married, and with the future husband (not-to-be), i lost 2 babies, and damn near my identity to keep him happy, and keep who i was from him.

i never wrote about any of the real stuff. about being pregnant, and then all of a sudden, not. and about being left behind the one person who knew me all over. and drifting further from the ones who tried to.

maybe writing was an easy way of holding on to such an intangibility. cos looking back through so many old notebooks, i remember exactly what it was to be smitten with mikey fleming. but forgetting how confused i was about marriage and a handful of hicks hating me. all the mistakes i could have saved myself from making if i had written it down and read what an ass i was.

so maybe i try and take the reigns again. and see if maybe in 5 years i can still remember how it feels to feel this.