I'm thankful for the kindness I've learned while being with me. And for the opportunity to even get to know I can be kind with myself.
I like my mother's pies. I wish to learn how to make some of them myself, but then I sit and think: I don't want to know them. I want her to be the only one who can make them to me. I want those pies to be my mother's and no one else. So sentimental.
I like the view from my , but when I get out of home and walk those streets myself, I... feel strange. Watching and belonging are never the same.
When I was younger, I thought being closed and angry and sad would get someone come and rescue me. It was a strange game of sort: never show in how much pain you're in, but... just give hints. For being weak is shameful, so if you must for kindness, let someone "notice and rescue you" without asking for it outright.
Yeah, no one did rescue. But I got to know that I can help myself, or that pain goes away, or that, sometimes, I don't even have to feel the pain anymore.
I hope I can be kinder with myself. I really do.
I can see why typing is easier than writing with my hand. Probably one of the reasons is in the fact that I just write without any... uh... normal spaces or paragraphs that would divide all the random thoughts from each other? Idk... It just looks better that way on the diary + I kinda hate the thought of leaving some space unused.
Bad habit.
But hey... No one really reads those diaries, because they never meant to be read in the first place.
I honestly have zero idea how good my grammar is, but god, why do you underline everything I write? It doesn't stress me much, but that does make me feel weird.
I'm rereading my post and... some words are simply ommited. How strange
i have no idea why but i'm reading this right now
haha, no
I meant the physical ones like notebooks