.:Free Range Lashy:.

I was thinking today... And I know that none of you want to read anything I post here. I realize this. But I've never really posted anything with someone else in mind. Call me selfish, but this is a place where I can really think. And you may think that's stupid, that it's not like anything here has been deep or profound. But these things I say hardly touch on what I think, I think that these things I post allow me to think. That, if I don't get these things onto paper (or in this case a screen) I can never pin down an idea, I can never sort out my thoughts. I've always been this way. I have a notebook hidden in my room for when I get horribly desperate, when I need to just write without thinking, spill anything and everything that comes out of my pencil, just release the contents of my brain. Most of the time they start to become hasty and illegible, but the point isn't to be read. It's for a peace of mind. So if you think I post worthless ramblings of a teenage girl, fine, feel free to think that. But they mean more to me than any of these words you actually see.

I don't think I've realized until recently just how much writing means to me. Up until recently, there had been someone who would write things that seemed to map out my entire existance, every thought, idea, every desire I'd ever had. When I felt like nothing, I would go there to read, I would take in every sentence, every word, and let it sink in. But she's gone now. If any of you knew who this was or what she wrote, you would think I'm insane. But she helped me. So much. And now that her writings are gone... I don't have them to cling to anymore. I don't have something to make sense of my brain anymore. I don't think I even realized how much a connection or understanding with one other person could mean in someone's lifetime. I doubt she even knew I read anything of hers more than once, I just gave the occasional comment here or there. But she has impacted my thoughts more than she could know. I think she helped me mature. And now that she's gone, I've had to start off on my own. I've written things down that don't make sense to anyone else. I've written things down that seem like nonsensical ramblings, but I know how much thought went into them. I don't think writing was ever truly meant for the masses. I think it was for personal reflection and assistance of others. This is how I view writing that has truly had a person's heart poured into it. Writing skills don't matter. It's the content, the fact that you got something out, anything out. It's the idea that's exploding onto the paper from the mind, it's that you understand something more, someone understands you more, that thoughts fluttering around inside your mind have finally been captured, if only for a moment, so you might actually understand them.

"Finish it. You can. You will."

"...Okay."

And so I will.