One thing I'm sort of understanding is that it seems I've been handed some unavoidable task of being a collector... of sorts. Sorts, as in not just things but every thing because of the way they make me feel. People, pictures, love letters, memories, text messages... et cetera. Every person I've admired who's come into my life has changed me somehow and every item in my room had some sort of a journey to get to where it's resting currently. Items such as my mom's pendant, has acquired history that predates my existence and yet it still manages to make me feel something. Now what do I do with these? These feelings. All of these feelings. Well, I guess I have three options. Use it, lose it or abuse it. Right? I definitely don't want to lose it. I don't think I'm nearly old enough to begin abusing it. Provided this understanding, I think I am beginning to learn that my job or purpose should be to use my collection of sorts (and feelings) onto whichever platform is allowing me to do so at the time being. With each experience I am taking away something valuable so, I guess in order to add more value to what life may bring me, it seems that I have no choice but to schedule regular visits to the old cocoon and continue to keep my brain malleable.
I'm not sure if I'm making any sense at all but hey, at least I'm making something. I don't know. At the end of the day, I know that it's a meandering road but it's beginning to be the only road meant for me. For now at least.
My mish-mosh of me-mo-mi lately:
GOOD. NIGHT.
