Tonight, I was talking to my roommate about what my life used to be like. And you know, I'm not entirely sure that it's written all over my face like I usually feel like it is. I mean, yes my past comprises exactly who I am now, however, it's not spread out in front of me. It's not like it's the road laid out ahead of me that people have to venture on to reach me. It's out behind me. And to be honest, no one really should walk on the roads behind them. Sometimes you can turn around and see the roads behind you, appreciate the beautiful and the tragic landmarks, but never travel back to them. But, sometimes I tell people things about my life, and they seem shocked. Like, maybe it isn't ridiculously apparent the things that I have been through. And even though I don't always feel like it was a good thing, maybe it was a blessing that all of those things happened to me. Maybe it's a blessing I get to keep it as part of me, even when people don't know. It's like my own terribly beautiful secret.
I want to say more but it's like 2 in the morning and all of my thoughts are all jumbled together and I can't get a single one out on its own. Maybe I will try again tomorrow.
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