Out of Touch

j1-a

feb 14, 2021
journal entry—

song: La Vie en rose- Édith Piaf

Ahh..

V-day

The day you either one; lose your virginity, two; rot in your room, or three; spend a few hours trying to convince your significant other that you care about them after months of treating them like shit.

A stupid made up holiday.

The month of February is supposed to be about love right? But instead, people fill it with self pity and projecting their insecurities about how they don't have anyone that loves them.

Am I one of those people?

I'll plead the fifth.

But, I suppose I have you..

Right, also I'm sorry I haven't really... updated you on my life.

I mean this is what starting anything spontaneous is like. You get excited at first and do it everyday then... you know, the depression hits you from a new angle blah blah we've been through this.

But today isn't really going to be about me, I'm not going to be fully selfish.

Something happened actually, something that
gave me a slimmer of hope that I'm not a fucking weirdo.

I was out with a couple friends, just at the park nothing crazy.. and there was a person sitting on the grass journaling, just like I do at home. Peacefully enchanted by their own writing with the slight furrow of their eyebrows and the hunch of their back. Gliding the pen effortlessly across the tanned paper, their thoughts being visually lifted off their minds and absorbed into the ink.

They were far enough where I couldn't see details. How old they were, gender, could barely make out the color of their hair under the cool shade. I could just see what was occupying them and envision the rest.

They had gotten up to greet someone when the page they were writing on got blown by the breeze, knocked against the post or the bench I was sitting at. My friends were too busy conversing that they didn't see me lift it up.

Sounds like a whole drama scene, I know. But the writer didn't seem to notice as they packed their stuff and made their way out with the person they ran up to.. so.

Trust me I know this is weird... I wanted to give it back but once I read the first few word I just, I kept it. Plus they were far gone. Now I'm going to write my response to it, as a way to showcase my emotions towards another person.. I suppose?

As if I'm not doing that with you.

But, I realized this person was writing to someone, just like I do with you so I thought.. why not reply as if I'm the one they're referring to.

If you write you know what this feels like. To dump all your emotions into writing because you could never visualize those words coming out or your mouth and into someone's mind.

paper—

Hey, I appreciate you sharing your thoughts with mine. You were wondering what's going on with me? I'd be happy to tell you.

— I genuinely hope you do. What I write is exactly what I feel and in the moment. I want nothing more than the comfort of your words and you to accept my inner demons in times I cannot. Continue..

The room no longer lights up when I'm around. Instead of having the contagious smile planted upon my face I now have a painted one. The itching for joy is now my favourite past time. I had a feeling things were getting bad again when I began thinking I wasn't wanted or needed. It's pretty humorous to know that while I'm sitting here with a smile that isn't even mine I still hope that the ones I love dearly would notice.