With each passing day

I just want to write.  I want to write and write and write until my fingers are numb from tapping on the keys and my mind is blank from having spewed out every word that ever called this brain a home.  I'm overwhelmed by my thoughts.  I don't know what to do with all of them.  I want to talk to someone.  I want to tell these stories.  But I don't know where to begin.  I don't know what to say.

I wish I could write the way I wrote a year ago.  I wish I could make these words flow because oh god they were beautiful.  I was so intensely proud of my writing then, and I still am, because that was damn good.  It was impressive.  I can't believe that I wrote those things.  That it was me.  It's not possible that something like that came from my mind, flowed through my fingertips.  Because even if it was me, even if that monologue was me, that personal narrative was me, those unfinished stories and even the few well-written poems were all me...why can't I write like that anymore?

I didn't cry.  It almost bothers me that I didn't.  One day I'm going to go back and sit on that bench and everything will overwhelm me.  I'll remember the people I kissed there.  The conversations I had.  I'll remember how much started there and how much ended.  I can't stop.  I can't not think about it.  It bothers me that I didn't cry because it meant everything to me.  It's everything that hurt me, everything that destroyed me.  It's the root of the person I became, and all I felt was this tittering anxiety.  This nervous happiness because it was so different but so much the same.

People have said before me that they had experiences like this there.  I never once believed it until I looked back on it.  Because now I understand.  More than I could have imagined, that place made me...me.  I want to talk to someone who understands it without hating it (no offense and all that).  But I feel so lonely right now.  I'm not really sad and I'm not really lonely, but it feels like I am, just because I don't have anyone to share this with and it feels like something that needs to be shared.  I can't even put it into words.  I just want to look into someone's eyes and know that they understand this.

PostSecret was my life that year.  I have submitted dozens of secrets, most of them during the course of that year, because for some reason, it made me feel complete.  And I know that there are people who understand this.  Which makes me want to submit a secret now, but I don't know what to say.  More than that though, I know that anybody who felt the way I do about it won't have anything to say back at me.  It's a miserable brotherhood.  We all understand it.  We also know that there is no way to speak of it.

I don't want to stop but I'm running out of steam.  I need one of those nights.  With the heat and the humidity and maybe even the bugs.  Those late nights when we never wanted it to end because it made us feel so alive.  It's been a long time since I've felt that alive.  I miss it.  I really do.