I write because I can and because I want to.  It’d be funny if I just left the post at this, but I wouldn’t do that.

I write because sometimes I need to get my thoughts straight, and sometimes I write just for fun.  I like it.  If I could write for the rest of my life and do nothing else, I easily would.  But that’s not what this blog is about.

Sometimes I write fictional feelings into actual situations.  And sometimes I purposely misinterpret my emotions because they sound better on paper.  And sometimes people read it wrong.
I sometimes write when there is nothing inside of me, but what pours out is filled with emotion.  And I sometimes write everything I have down on paper, but it goes by unnoticed.

I was just thinking about why I started this blog.  It was something my brother and I had jokingly talked about me doing for a very long time, but I never had the urge to actually start a blog.  I finally did start it because I was having a shitty summer and my heart was breaking because of unfortunate circumstances.  I’m not the person I was then.  If I’m really bored someday, maybe I’ll go back and read through everything I’ve written in the past two plus years and see who I was and who I am.

Not long after I started this blog, I had a mental break down.  People who read my blog reached out to me and everything is okay now.  Maybe my blog saved my life.
I still get depressed sometimes, that is true.  Usually it’s not that bad, and not worth mentioning, but writing allows me to mention it without those who know me freaking out.
What sucks is that some of the people who helped me through one of the toughest times in my life failed to see me grow and change, and their responses are just the same.  I had to cut those people out of my life like a dead branch on a growing tree.

I wish I had more to say, but my life has suddenly gotten less interesting than it is sometimes.

I went mini golfing on Saturday, that was fun.

Tuesday I’ll have a great new poem going up, and I’m excited for that.  Ta ta until then.