you may not love me, but you make me feel lovable.

and that is enough.

So I’m the sort of person that writes.

When I’m feeling overwhelmed, it’s what I do.

Lately I haven’t let myself really let go and just drop it all into words.

So about two seconds ago I went back and decided to read this old word file I wrote when I was feeling particularly emotional (in a good way). While I was reading it, I felt it.

That’s the thing. I felt the same things as I had when I wrote it, fresh and almost as strong. I know that’s just because it’s me. Reading my own words, causing that emotion to come back, because I knew my own triggers. I know how to make myself react, does that make sense?

But I want to do that for other people too. I’m terrified to attempt it, because what if I can’t? It’s what I want though. I don’t know exactly how I’m going to do it yet, but I want to stir something in other people. That’s the point of every form of art, whether it be film, photography, writing, painting, sculpture, whatever. It’s about capturing the human experience. No one can capture the entire spectrum of possibility of course. Even managing to display one small facet of the whole thing can be absolutely magical though.

Art is magic.

I want to be a magician.

To just admit it when you have no idea what you’re talking about.

For example, when people bring up history.

I have no idea.

I have no real comprehension of history.

So I just say so.

Something I’ve learned over the years.

( because at seventeen, I am oh so wise. )