the reality of it

oh wow...I just read something I wrote two years ago explaining why I feel I need to write about experiences while I'm going through them or shortly thereafter, and well...I couldn't have said it better myself hardy har:

They'll go to some part of my recall that is patchy and colored by nostalgia. I won't know what's real and what I've made up to make peace with my past. There is so much to be loved and I need it to be genuine. I want to love what I loved and hate what I hated and feel indifferent about what didn't really matter.

This gives me hope. I'm sure I thought 'god i can't write anymore' at that time as well, but I think that is beautiful in its simplicity. It's just beautiful, really, and you know how hard it is for me to say that about my writing.

I also think the difficulty concentrating is just being out of practice. Yes, I'm going to go with that.

Love you, bye!