A long time ago, I wrote a letter for a bloke I used to date and saved it on my hard-drive. I went through files a while ago and found it and read it and was absolutely floored at the sheer gracelessness of the words.
Every day, it feels a little like I'm leaving something behind that I shouldn't. Like there's some part of me that deserves to be alive, but I'm killing it by growing.
I've started to save everything. Not hoarding, no. More along the lines of collectivity and archivism. Whole chapters of books I never started and songs I've never considered singing scattered sporadically around my hard-drive like dandelions in the back garden.
Birthday in two and a half.
We celebrated tonight.
It was excellent.
"There's very little I've not been able to admit, but I think this memory is one of the few."
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