4/16/04

The white page.

It used to be so easy to write an entry. I would strive to capture every detail of my day in my mind and then set it to paper.

“Why don’t you write anymore in your diary?”

“…because I tell everything I want to say in the diary to you.”

It is initimidating having my boyfriend read my diary. Though I never told him, that is what stops me from writing. Once I told him that he was my anti-muse. Perhaps that was unfair to him. Perhaps it was more that he was my excuse for not writing.

I recently reconnected with an old boyfriend. He emailed me and I emailed him back. After it happened, I felt a rush of love towards him again. I remembered the good times. He seemed somewhat timid and definantely kept his space as he wrote.

As did I.

I have missed him though.

I seclude myself. I haven’t contacted friends for months. When fellow employees invite me out to “party” I always find myself saying…”No.”

Why?

I have this constant low self-esteem. I once told Richie that I didn’t want to be called “beautiful” or “pretty” or any endearing terms such as those. I never saw myself as any of those things.

Now I wish, somehow that he would call me them. If only to let me know that perhaps I am, even if not in my own eyes…

It feels good to write.