People have been reading my journals since I could join letters together. I dont quite know how I feel about that yet. I think i'm getting used to it, but it still feels like someone has just used my toothbrush and not told me. I suppose its my own fault. I only have myself to blame for this one. And the one before now. And the one before that. I dont think I'll ever learn.
But it doesnt do one any good to dwell on things or to freak out about the little things. Its all about the bigger picture, and sometimes I forget this, and I know I forget it a lot. I spend too much time freaking out about things to the point where I feel as though I can barely breath.
But, I'd rather live how my heart works: Intense, passionate parts, but fleeting.
The things that I write on my blog are my thoughts, mostly postd in the wee early hours of the morning, or atleast typed out, read, re read, edited and sometimes even scrapped all together during those moments of existencial cisies and ceral parties. But, I cant bring myself to delete them. To remove them. Nor can I bring myself to let them fade away from their purpose. Its like, if I dont post them, my thoughts grew for nothing.
I struggle with words. I struggle to articulate the things I want to. Its so much easier to just type, or write them down, but the meaning kind of gets lost. Thats one of the majour downsides. Theres no expression in text. But, all the people I claim to be 'in love' with. All the books I claim to 'love'. All the movies that I can rant on about for days-on-end are just passing moments that would otherwise go unheard, or unpublishhed without this silly little intenet diary.
Besides, I dont believe in "Love" anyway. Never have, and probably never will.
I know I'm ignoring my rules for life, because I dont believe that you should share your secrets because then they loose their magic and their power and they become less of what they are. Over exaggerated. Made to sound better than they are. The meaning lost, like an old story that no one can quite remember, or a joke without a punchline.
But on the other hand, when secrets are kept for too long, they're over dramatisised too, built up into something that is too grand- too much. The secret then loses its intensity. It becomes less magic.
We have to find the balance.
So, when I'm ready to divulge my secrets, or the little things that have been building up in my brain for ages, its because if I dont, they'll die. Or, More likely, I'll forget them. I feel like when I share these things, I'm not carrying the burden of the secret alone. (Subsequantly, I'd be a very bad murderer.)
So, you should probably read this blog the way it was meant to be read. To bad indie music and with the notion that tomorro, or the next day, or the one after that, I'll have changed my mind. Changed the meaning. Grown a little bit. Slept a little less and take it as intensly and passionatly and in the moment as possible. Thats all I can really ask you to remember. Thats all I can really ask of myself, of life, of people and of you.
~Kathryn
PS: If you try hard enough it rhymes.