it feels so significant to start a new journal. knowing i’ve filled the pages of another book feels simultaneously satisfying and nostalgic. i remember writing to cope, to live, and starting to come back to that feels good. i’ve journaled almost daily now since march-ish, which is the longest i’ve journaled consecutively since... forever. maybe high school. i love journaling and writing to You and spewing words about my day, but i think i miss describing the intangible. i miss poetry. i used to always be in a poetic state of mind– i think i still have it. i used to love and consume writing and poetry like it was a part of me. i think a big change has been emotional maturity, but also my relationship with You. You’re my solace now, not the blank lined pages. You created me to love this, to process and document here, but it’s not my only safety anymore. You are.
so sure, i’ll keep writing and learning and loving and living in these pages, but it’s different now.
it’s warmer with You here.