age like wine (or cheese).

i'm tired of pretending. i don't need to be liked to feel loved, and i've forgotten that.

i miss the care free existance of my 16 year old self. who knew four or five years could make such a difference?

mellowed is one word for it, and losing your soul another. words have power, and again, something else i've forgotten.

i miss typing about my nonsensical escapades, the existance of an audience regardless. sure, the aftermath of drunken adventures, breathless hellos and sullen goodbyes left much to be desired. but at that point in my life, i can at very least be sure that i was alive.

amidst all the chaos, i found security in myself. the irony is that order in my life just made me lose control of every thing i thought i knew.