#8

Writing is fascinating to me. It's essentially one person talking to another through a combination of technology and their own thought. It's one person telling a story and capturing that story, then telling it, through that paper or screen, to another. It's truly a magical thing and it hurts my brain when I think about it too much. I feel that I am a writer in my soul, and yet writing is a concept I may never fully understand. Still I try, much like with my other big questions. I understand so little of this world, and too much of it all at once. I'm rambling on again. I apologize.

I often feel as though there is something wrong with me. Or like I don't belong here. I sometimes don't feel real. It's as though I'm both painfully numb and overwhelmingly terrified. I spend too much time in my head in order to escape the world I live in.

Sometimes I find myself turning to poetry. I try to turn them into songs when I can. Both my mom and my dad used to write poetry before I was born. I think it's kinda sweet that I sometimes find myself writing poems too.

There are so many people on this little planet in this giant universe that sometimes it feels as though nothing I do matters in the grand scheme of it all, but it matters to me and I think that's enough. I can't look at a bug without imagining what its life is like. I believe that bug, and the amoeba and bacteria we can't see, that each one of them matters, and their experiences matter, simply because they exist. And I don't care if I'm wrong.