Nostalgic Night

Do you ever read your old diaries?

Flipping the pages as you read and re-read pages of your scribbled handwriting, each form and structure unique as they depict the emotions that pour on the pages of the well-worn notebook.

As you run your fingers and embrace the familiar feel of the letters pressed into the smooth paper, you re-visit times of joy and sorrow. You remember the incidents that created the entry and touch the dried tears that has smudged the ink.

the messy lines, the neat words, the long rants, the short sentances; then you remember how the pen and paper accompanied you at the times when you were most down, when you were alone in your room, crying your heart out; softly, lest you were overheard; at the point when you were about to give up on everything else, because you felt like dying, because there was no way to solve it; incidents after incidents that seems so similar and different at the same time; love lost and found; words of despair and pain.

then you lose yourself in the memories of surprise gifts and small gestures of love; the outings, the softly spoken words, the nights of confessions, the stolen hugs and kisses and meetings; the small bursts of love and passion from strangers that have left footprints; the arrivals and departures; new ventures and gain.




the comfort of writing.

*

i have been in a state of depression again.

ever since yenlin; ever since the horrible flight.
or what was it?


it went away for a while.




tonight, it visits again.


i feel lonely, and empty.
wondering what am i doing, what should I do.
i must be strong, but I am weakened.

i don't know how long more I can stay strong.
But i have to; my friends need me. I have to.


I haven't been able to cry for a long while.
Even if I do, it stops immediately.

I long for a good looong cry right now.
Maybe it might make me feel better?


or maybe I have no more tears left.





I wish I knew what was wrong.