This is an attempt to write something serious. Well fictionally serious. You, know with love and emotion and no bad guys...
This is a journal. Not a diary. A journal. A record. An archive. Ooh I like the sound of that. The archive of me.
I've almost graduated from high school. I'm almost 18. I've never had a date. I have friends, I've been to dances, but I've never actually fallen into honest to goodness, sure-enough, once in a lifetime love. I've tried so many different approaches. Coming on strong, coming on subtly, trying to go straight into it, waiting for a while, and pretending to be something that I'm not.
I suppose the only thing left is to just be myself.
But why? Who would want me for me? What is there about me that anyone would find appealing? I'm not super good-looking, I'm not super smart, I'm not super bad, I'm not super good, I'm not super strong, I'm not super emotional.
Who am I? What do I like? I've tried being so many different things that I've forgotten how to be me. The only surefire thing I can say about myself is that I like to read. But who the hell in this world would care for someone who can only enjoy reading? I like to write I guess. Reading and writing go hand in hand I suppose. Now that I think about it... the only thing I really am is creative. I don't like this world. It doesn't like me.
Perhaps that's why I'm so good at what I do.
Reading allows me to escape. Writing allows me to live other lives. The lives that I want for myself. Lives that will never really happen. Lives that can't happen.
Or maybe I've just been told that so many times... that I'm actually starting to believe it.