That diary entry was meant to simply be an outburst, it was just a quick and easy medium to vent those supposed temporary feelings. Maybe if I left it alone long enough, time would erode its meaning, I thought. Maybe time will solve all my problems for me, maybe I can run away through time. But now I read it again, with just as much conviction and confusion as before. I’ve been waiting for so long for time to help me escape. The wrong reasons? The right ones? I can’t make up my mind – time hasn’t solved that problem for me, yet I am certain of the entirety of it. There’s an element of fate in this. It gives me joy and ironically a sinking, hollow feeling in my heart too, but I have to learn to accept it. Things would be so much easier if you could just… see.
A lot has changed. I have.
I wish you didn’t.