the big notebook collected dust on my bedside table for two weeks before i decided to write in it last night.
out of guilt i guess.
since i depended on such thing for so long.
strange that i started this blog when I had that lying around in full view,alongside the purple pen (that writes more like blue,as i found out last night).
blogging never appealed to me until last week when a friend asked me if I had one.
all of my sudden my thoughts didn't seem to fit in a notebook.
yes,they were safe in there.with only me seeing it and knowing where it is.
but they belong here.
as if they were meant to be risked.
mostly i'd be talking about people.
who they are to me and how,in their own small (and devastating) ways change who i am or who i want to be.
still i'm not sure how long i'd keep this.
or if i really should.
it's like telling a stranger your secrets (although not really telling them they are secrets) and hoping that they won't come across someone you know and share it.
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