I have been craving a little bit of an outlet recently. I don’t know what it is, but the need to write comes and goes in such extreme measures. I would love it if I could constantly write, just let my soul carve itself out onto a page through the quick and fluid motions of my pen. Writing has a raw and emotionally trying quality to it that fulfills in a way I can’t seem to find in any other outlet. 

There has been a lot that has inspired me, that has moved me or made me so uncomfortable that I sit with it just to see if I will ever be able to explain the feeling. Quotes from books I have started reading, little snippets from conversations with friends, I seemingly am jumping and exploring these moments more and more. It must be a summer thing. This happened last summer as well. Maybe the summer months hold these feelings because they, themselves, mark an interesting time in my life; the settling of one school year and the beginning of another, like a long drawn out new years eve. There is something to be said about those warm nights when I go out for a walk listening to music, exploring the seclusive village of thought that I have built up in my mind. Leaving my house with the sun burning bright and returning only when the moon has claimed its victory in the night time sky, feeling refreshed and lost at the same time. 

A lot has changed from last summer to now. New people have become important, new emotions are being felt, new places and possibilities are opening up. It is strange though, out of everything that has happened, I cannot begin to explain how they are different, or rather how I am different. If someone where to ask me how I have changed it is likely they could answer better than I. I wonder, have I changed? What value does change have? Why is it so important that I change? I guess the easiest answer would be that change marks progress, a representation of living and learning in the best way possible. A part of me believes that I have changed, and I’m sure I have, but I question if this is progress. I have been known to say that we were the bravest version of ourselves when we were playing in the school yard during recess at the beginning of our lives. When everything was a new adventure, everyone was a new friend, and love was something to be cherished not feared.

So I ask this question, is change progress, because I have changed from that person, as most have, but I feel tinier and more vulnerable than she ever was. I have spent most of my life transforming into someone who feared everything that should be cherished and chased. Is the goal of life to come full circle back to that person, that care-free child who can look at the sky and see a world of possibilities rather than a world of missed opportunities and regret? 

Looking at my life as it was and as it is now it is easiest to compare last year to this year, when I first started this tumblr to me now returning to it. I have made, what most around me would say, positive steps. I have let people in, I have let myself care and let the people know I care about them. Overall, this year has been such a stark contrast to last year and almost somewhat boring when compared to the emotional toils that were experienced. In other ways it has been so much more beneficial and it is likely, because of the ease of this year, that I have been able to make the certain choices that I have. 

I am left now at the end of this post with more questions than I can even begin to ask in one sitting. I guess that is what I have these next four months for. All I know is that I am entering a new act in my life. Some of the players are the same, entering new roles, and some are brand new. It is true that many, however, are no longer present. I don’t know how I feel about that. There is a sadness I guess, but at the same time these absences are not unexpected. I continue on, and maybe that is cold but what use is it to dwell on past relationships? I don’t know what I will say at the end of these coming months, nor do I think I should know. It could be that’s what change is all about, not expecting or forcing an outcome, but rather letting it be. Maybe I will never get back to that youthful carefree girl. It is possible she is so far buried in the mass grave of my former selves, only old photos can prove that she existed. But sitting here in my bed alone, longing for that guy who has won me over to be laying next to me, it is possible that I am closer to her than ever before.