These are my feelings lost in translation. An odd game of telephone that goes from my heart to my mind, through a filter, and onto my keyboard.
I just want to write these feelings down while they still exist as they are. Everything changes, and when things are different I can never really remember the way they were unless it’s recorded in a journal or a blog somewhere. I can probably never adequately describe it, but I will try.
Maybe I’m just a narcissist twit, but I feel there are a few people with a weak sense of identity who admire me and try to mirror the things that I do. They think they’re impressing me but I just feel second-hand embarrassment for them. It’s tiresome and I wish they would just stop trying to win me over…
I learned a few months ago that memories are completely and incomprehensibly inaccurate. They rot little by little each time we relive them in our head, yet they play such a large part in forming what we call “the self”.