ode to life | cameron dallas

Chapter 24 (2021 - 2025)

Roughly one year later, 2021

July 2021

Dear journal,

I don't even know what I'm doing right now. All I remember is being convulsed in a nostalgia so deep and wanting to talk to someone about it. The thing is, I don't have anyone.

Next thing I know, I'm in a Wal-Mart purchasing a journal. I don't even do journal entries. I haven't even written in years. But fuck, do I miss it. I miss writing. Who knew I had so much baggage?

I don't intend on letting anyone read this, but I'm just going to pretend that you're reading this. It will almost feel like I'm talking to you. Kind of. You're the only person I want to talk to right now.

It's July. I'm in a hotel with a woman who isn't you. I don't love her, but she's here and you're not.

I don't know where you are. I tried calling your cellphone in hopes to see you in our special time of year, but the line disconnected. I'm guessing you blocked my number. I don't blame you.

I starred in three movies this year, not that you care. I'm not sure if I do either. I almost feel brain dead like a manipulated puppet that just nods his head yes to every movie offer he gets. The fame is still nice, though.

I still think of the last thing Nash told me till this day. He said you were my "Something real", and then he socked me right in the temple. It was the same night you gave up on me. I haven't spoken to him since then. You'll be the only person I admit this to, but I miss him. And I'm so fucking sad I lost him, as well.

I guess you meant what you said. Our special time of year has expired. Still, I hope I see you soon. It was nice talking to you.

Cameron

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Roughly one year later, 2022

July 2022

Dear journal,

I just spent a whole hour trying to look for this journal. I thought I lost it which would be pretty fucking upsetting considering I only wrote in it once. A year ago.

It's July again. Fuck. I should stop doing this. When will I be able to enjoy this month without having you consume all my thoughts?

You're starting to really worry me. Your birthday was yesterday and I tried contacting you, but I had no idea how. So, I called your shop. The lady on the line said you moved somewhere far away from Denver. She refused to say where. You probably told her not to tell me. I don't blame you.

You probably moved out with Jesse. You're probably engaged now, pregnant even. I can just imagine you in a wedding gown...walking down the aisle... stating your vows which are probably just "Ode to Life" ... Fuck.

I wonder if you've heard about me. And if you do, if my name sparks any memories or revives old feelings. Do I still have that impact on you? You do on me. I go nocturnal for you.

You probably haven't heard of me much, though. I only made one movie this year, and denied about five. I can't find my motive anymore. Acting is exasperating. The fame is depressing once night slips. Then, I am miserable. I think I find more passion within a pen and paper as opposed to a script and microphone.