Have you ever had a dream that was so real that even days, weeks later you could still remember it clearly?

or have you ever read something that was so full of life and emotion that you wanted to know the ending right away, or you didnt want it to end at all, because you had fallen in love with the characters?

It is rare, for me to expirence either of these things. I am filled with cynisism and pessimism and realism, though sometimes it's hard to tell. I am not used to feeling loved or loving others. I have no real desire for either of these things.... most of the time.

but then someone comes along and writes something... touching... or i dream these stupid dreams that make me feel... nostalgic for things i hated not so long ago.

there was more to this. I had a point and it was concise and true. it ended with "maybe i'm not ten inside." but then the computer glitched and i lost four pages of pure wit. maybe that's for the best.

maybe it takes a spark of emotion to write anything worth writing.

maybe it dosent.

I havent got the tallent that Adam, Dom, Ivy or Christine have in their writing. I'm not filled with vocabulary and charm. I havent got anything to say that's really worth reading, and yet i write anyway.

this started as a side project: learn some html, spill some overflowing emotion... find a place to just be me.

I dont know what me is.

I'm twenty freeking years old. I'm ten inside, I'm short, i'm chubby, i have a thin person screaming to get out. I have a writer, a painter, a cellist screaming to escape through my thin skin. somewhere, deep inside, there is a goal, which will actually be completed... but these are all things i have yet to find.

I am content in the here and now. but I am fearful for the future. I dont know what's to come. so how can i say that i want children, or a husband, or a house or any of these things when i dont even know what i want to do tomorrow?

I am not ten inside, I am four. but that's ok, because i'm mostly good at hiding it.