Journal

My thoughts are like a sleeveless shirt - absolute rubbish when it gets cold. Could someone please kindly turn off winter vibes? Pretty please? It's a bit difficult to concentrate when the sunlight is hiding, and when birds don't sing as loud as they do in summer time. Mind goes black as my feet struggle to stay warm in the super cosy warm socks. Memory seems to fail me in short term tasks, just like a summer dress fails to cover ones body. Sometimes I honestly wonder, how can they be called piece of clothing, when nothing is left for ones imagination? One can wonder, right?

I'm trying to write another journal. I've not done that for years now. But thoughts all just boil into a tasteless soup. Many years in the future, I think, I will wonder what the every-day life was like. I'll ponder about what my happiness levels were, and what my thought demons were up to. I want to have something to go back to. Something for myself to remind me how to pretend to be sane in times of madness. I want to have a droplet of hope when pain seems to overwhelm. Like some sort of survival guide, but not really. I want to remember forever what it's like to be me, I don't want to lose myself too much. As these years have passed, I have discovered that I'm not such a terrible person. One must always remain true to oneself, and one must have pride, but also be humble.

End of thought.
Night, night.