cleaning out

In an attempt to freshen the walls so I went through all the trinkets and other things, hitched a proper place, and inevitably found my physical journal from ~8 years ago.

If you are one to indulge in the journals of others, then maybe you’d find this one amusing to read — I at least found it so. Maybe because you can see the traces of my current writing style — but maybe because it reeks of young adulthood grasping:

[…] what little adolescence is left within me […]

It also comes with some certain gems; gems to which I can’t absolutely refute today, however cold-hearted it could be:

Most who need help [stay] forever lost.

But it also comes with some genuine depictions. And darker tones which I’ll omit as you’d come across them anywhere in any journal most likely. Still, genuine depictions — a mild relatable:

It is the one of many weekends where I forget what it means to pass time.

Other sentences stand strangely alone in the string of consciousness:

Please, let me help you.

My mind is deteriorating.

Unfortunately my mind did not deteriorate, but we can hope for such things.