Talking to myself

I’m mostly just talking to myself. I’ve got like BOXES of journals and diaries stashed in my storage locker. Hundreds and hundreds of these spiral notebooks full of page after page of scribbled gibberish (in cursive) that I felt a need to write down with a pen onto paper. None of which has ever been read by anyone else. And wasn’t meant to be read by anybody else. I just wrote it for myself. Because I had a need to try and hear and understand what I was thinking and feeling at the time.

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