Sometimes I wonder why I write in this thing in such painful and random spurts. I'll go weeks, or months without a word, and then out of mere obligation, or temporary insanity, I finally cave in and write something.
and then I end up deleting whatever I write seconds after its been created.
I thought for some time that it was because of how important entries really are, or how important they become, rather. They stay there forever, resting joylessly in neat little rows in your archive revealing all the faint details you knew so well at one point. Sweet details you couldn't remember now even if you tried... they display things that mattered to you, and it's rude to not revere precious things.
But now, after much debate, I know why I hate writing things: It's because looking back, in general, can be the most painful feeling in the world. It hurts me, and yet I dare myself to read on.
The last yearbook i've ever received was in my 8th grade. It was beautiful at first, and I made sure every brace-faced pre-teen I knew wrote h.a.g.s in bubbly letters and listed their immature sn's underneath. I loved the thing, I looked up teachers, and pressed my fingers across the shiny paper, and would watch as my finger-prints sparked and faded away in the margins, softly.
When I realized that it was all over, and I couldn't go back to my old school and was voyaging to a new world, I quickly panicked and hid the thing in the back of the coat closet. and it's hidden carefully in the coat-closet, and I refused to look at it months after that little graduation, and I know I could never bring myself to look at it now.
and from then on I began to take shape, and although I can recall the basics of my past.. i'm perpetually pensive, and analytical, and different, and neurotic, and.. consistently single; I've tried so hard to move on without ever looking back that all the specifics are hazy and mushed .
I don't like nostalgia. And I know it can be a beautiful, beautiful thing, but it's something i'm scared of.