It is human impulse to write our feelings in times of peril. Why do we write though? We’ll be dead and no one will read what we wrote. Is it the chance that someone may? Our need to write down our views and situations on the off chance someone will come across it? Talking or thinking about feelings doesn’t leave any physical proof. We are exhilarated by the unknown; we want people to understand us, to familiarize themselves with what we’re going through. The idea of our words living on when we’ve passed away is exciting. Everyone wants to live forever, perhaps not literally, but when we write something that is kept by others –and even if it isn’t- we live on in our words.
this is the reason i broke up with him in the first place. because it was so much stress and it just seemed hopeless. i know that's a harsh word but its true. he's got so much on his plate and i dont want any more on mine. i have my own set of worries i need to take care of. but i cant just turn him away. the way he opened up to me...it litteraly moved me to tears. i feel his dispair, his depression. he has nothing. but i dont want him to have no one too. at the moment i feel thats all i can do; give him the comfort of knowing that i'm here for him, that he has me. contrairy to his beleifs he hasnt lost me. if he really had, i wouldnt have seen him yestrerday, or tuesday, or any times before that. we wouldnt have acted or talked the way we did if he'd truley lost me. his words stung because i felt his pain through them. his feelings soaking the words and turning them a different colour. i never told him to get the fuck out of my life, but it hurt to know thats how he fe
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