The sad thing about being an adult is it’s nothing at all what you thought it would be when you were a kid. Hearing answers to the little & simple questions you had when you were young made you think of how amazing it must be to be a knowledgeable adult with so many answers but that’s not the truth. As you grow older, the bigger your questions become & unlike when you were a kid, most of the time it’s up to you to find the answers & you don’t always do. I’m afraid to say that at this age I have more questions than answers, more disbeliefs than beliefs & more confusion than certainty.
Writing isn’t something I do because I want to. Not something I do only because I like to. Many times I find that I need to write.
A dialog takes place inside my head & is repeated for a countless number of times. The only way for me to stop it is to write it down or speak about it & I can’t speak about it. I can’t speak about it not because I don’t have anyone I trust but because I don’t know how to speak about things I myself don’t understand. Things I’m not sure how I feel about. I wouldn’t even know where to start or where to end. All i know is that I need to write it down to shut the voice inside my head.