I was looking back to the time when I used to write. I used to write poetry, prose, and fictional stories. As I was reading my writings, my old feelings and thoughts came back. I was so sad, so young. Naive, if you must say. Some of the writings were pretty bad, I admit. But some hit me from the deepest depths and pulled out the emotions that still linger inside.


I was so deep in depression, so obsessed with death. I didn't care about myself because of how people at that time in life treated me. I never showed them that I was hurt from what they say about me.
I gave in when everyone was sleeping. I was one of the hopeless teenagers spiraling downwards and no one really knew what was going on with me. I kept all my secrets to myself while others told me theirs. I wouldn't be surprised if their secrets were all lies.


One of my dearest friends, she was my inspiration to some of my writings. We were pretty much in the same shoes. We were like sisters. Now we're grown apart - literally. My heart cracked. A piece of me broke when I heard she's gone. She's still alive but it feels like she's dead. No contact, no letters, no phone calls, no emails - NOTHING. I still love her. And if she ever finds this and reads this, I would like to see her or at least speak to her again before this life is over.


I was pretty good at pulling out emotions- what happened? I can't even pick up a pen and the ink won't flow. Now everything - fashion, art, and concepts - is so "cliche." You must create something original to be heard, to be recognized from the group of ordinaries. BULLSHIT. Why can't everyone get along and accept the things they see and hear? Because this is life and life constantly changes. Maybe that's why I don't choose to write anymore..


Oh how much I have changed..

,
Sophie




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