"There is no fictional epiphany, It was the moment I met her..."I don't suppose I spend a lot of time thinking about why I write this blog. Or even if I should think about it. But I write a lot of things, to a lot of people - although some might never know it. I have notebooks, and blogs, all dedicated to different things. I wonder, am I a different person in each place I write? Or is it just many facets of my one self?
I write many things, I think, because they are the kind of thing that I would like to read, if I stumbled on it. A notebook left behind on a bus, or a school desk, can sometimes be a wonderful find. It makes you feel as if you know someone, even though you have no clue who they are. And maybe I want someone to feel that way about me.
I write many things, I think, because they are the kind of thing that I would like to read, if I stumbled on it. A notebook left behind on a bus, or a school desk, can sometimes be a wonderful find. It makes you feel as if you know someone, even though you have no clue who they are. And maybe I want someone to feel that way about me.
Of course, I'll have no idea what they're actually feeling, if I do this right. But its the possibility being out there. Its the ability to exist in more than one being. The same way that sending in a secret allows someone to know you and yet...not know you.
I wonder if this is the only kind of relationship I can achieve. Anonymous and one-sided. But I don't mind it. I don't mind being in love with someone I have never met, talked to, heard about - someone who might not ever exist. Its an abstract idea but I've seemed to always be good at abstract thinking - when it suits me.
The words will keep pouring out of my mind onto the page, or the screen, and there's a chance that no one will ever read them. But I don't mind. Because there's always the possibility.
