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Hello world. How nice of you to read my journal. It seems pointless, really, to type even a single word in here, as I doubt many read it. For that reason alone I feel the urge to spill every secret I've ever held into these big, blank digital pages. What would be the point though? Words are meant to be heard, understood and taken in. They weren't meant to sit idly by while the whole world goes on without them, collecting dust on a proverbial shelf until they become ancient.

I dont want my words to be relics. I don't want my words to be like the phone call I'll never go through with. I don't want them to rot on the tip of my tongue, when all they were meant for was you.

It seems almost wasteful that I have to much to say, but such little courage to say it. Its always smoke and mirrors, nothing solid or real. I don't anyone will ever really know me. A friend once described me as cold, and I have half a mind to agree with him. I don't want to though. I'd like to imagine myself as someone warm, forthright and open.

Instead, I only feel like secrets are meant for the back of ones head, and trust is something I have limited amounts of. Whats the point?

Trusting your emotions, thoughts, feelings, worries, doubts, life...all of that..trusting it to another person who can so easily throw it away.

Make it all seem meaningless.

...

I dont like being meaningless.
Especially not to you.

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