I started on this site believing it would get me great places or that it would improve my skills as a creative individual. With every situation I enter these wishes stay alongside me, sometimes unwanted simply because I know they will be proved blatantly wrong and profoundly childish. These feelings and values I hold concerning my writing are ethereal. They sit like butterfly wings; already flaking from the mere atmosphere and prepared to dissolve in the single grimy, oily, grabby hand of a needy child. That has a deeper meaning but who needs deeper meanings at a time like this. I am well aware these entries turn to spiralling rambling within the first three sentences but I suppose that’s how my mind goes. So tightly wound up that when it finally lets loose it has no idea where it’s going, what it’s doing, who it wants to hurt. I’ve had problems living with them for a very long time, such small things that should never have turned into what they are had I let them free once and accepted that life was ultimately cruel and that writing would not always prevail. I was too starry-eyed for too long and it let me weak to a fight I wasn’t expecting. Of course, I’m better now though the ripples of such a punch still echo through me.
I hate this entry.