Whenever I feel like writing, a dam clogs up in my throat by the time I actually get out my laptop or a pen and notebook. Words, meet locked door. People say it helps to get things out, to write them out if you have to - but what if you can't find the words? I guess I could try paying attention to what I'm feeling, but I've been emotionally constipated for weeks. At this point, I'm starting to wonder if it's a phase at all, or if this is a new development I'm just going to have to deal with in the long run. Is it possible for someone's emotional capacity to regress? Lol.

I could write with two mindsets: that someone will see what I write, or that it's for my eyes only. At this point, I haven't decided yet.

I always have a dilemma - draw or write?

I always use I too much.

Maybe I should read instead...

I've seen the best of love, the best of hate,
The best reward is earned,
And I've paid for every single word I ever said.

- Jimmy Eat World

There's a spot in my heart I've kept locked away in eternal winter. 

The first snow of the year brought a memory back to me - a fleeting memory - and I began to dig. I sifted through the snowbanks and the wreckage that I've left untouched for years. I found a surprise. Apparently, winter is the season of nostalgia.  

There are still things I want to say, but I can't find the words. 

The fifteen year old me sleeps here, dreaming of softly falling snow and quiet streets at dusk. Sixteen year old me smiles at a picture of summer. Nineteen year old me nods in recognition at Time, and carries on.

Today, I played our song, and I caught a glimpse of 15. One day, I hope she'll wake up, and we can meet again.