Wednesday, February 22, 2012

I hate having to think what to write, as much as I hate what I have written, every time, every single one of my posts. Everyone of them looks like my worst work yet. I rarely like anything that’s written by me.

Most of what I write is private, and considering that most of it is online, let’s just add it to the list of paradoxes. As far as subject matter is concerned, most personal details never get jotted down; call me paranoid, possessive or protective. Adjectives don’t matter, not putting your loved ones in a tight spot do matter.

In even my saddest, angriest or most serious writings, if there is a cheesy joke I think I can put in, it’ll be there.

Most of what I write starts out as a self-awareness post, but a few words down the line, going through all that I might probably end up writing makes me feel sick to my stomach. I do not need to immortalize ugly memories. The world doesn’t need more dark corners and weepy eyes, just a shade more of sunlight and a laugh.

This is my most self aware post as yet. * staring creepily over-and-over again! *

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