Sunday, July 24, 2005
In the middle of my living room floor lay a pile of papers. Old writings, thoughts, scribbles, poems, stories and screen plays. I dug them out of a box with the thought that I would read through them all. I figured that maybe there was something in all of them to find. Now all I find is a pit in my stomach, and I just want to put them back into the box. I'm not sure what I'm afraid of. But I have this feeling I'll find that in me once was a girl who had such an imagination she could write pages and pages at a time without thinking twice and now I can't find her for the life of me. She's lost in a world of filters. I'm afraid I might start reading and find out that I was never any good to begin with. I know it must sound insanely stupid...but the fear came along so quick and so strong...that I feel memory lane might be best left to others.