I've been trying to write here for too long, but the words won't come out they way I want them to. It's been months. This complicated, rocky, on-again, off-again relationship I've got with writing is starting to spring out doubt within myself, whether or not I'm good enough for the course I want to take and if I truly deserve it, because what kind of writer is one who can't commit herself to her pen and hasn't written in months? 

Five not-long-enough days are standing in between me and the Jurassic walk in the park that is the commencement of College life. This year and the last has been one huge experience made up of tons of other broken down, fragmented pieces of memories I've kept of people and things that I learned from and am thankful for, but I still had to walk away from that. Five more days, and I'm being catapulted into a new one. 

Some things change.

My uniforms (which I haven't even put in the wash), untouched class cards, binders and pads that haven't been taken out of their shiny plastic wrappers, are pretty much in the same state as I am - messy, disorganized, unprepared, and will probably only be ready on the actual day I kick myself out of our front door.

Some just don't.

I was enrolled into an art class this summer, and that was the start of my break from words. I rediscovered how it was to be more adventurous and the importance of paying close attention to the tiniest of details. I fell in love with my instructors (how they laughed and argued about the insanity of Van Gogh), the colors, how the stretch of canvas felt beneath my fingertips, the brush strokes, and the promise of creating something that's entirely your own, but even that I couldn't commit myself to for very long. 

And two months ago, at the end of one of my classes, X- gave me a call to let me know that she'd just reached home after the two long years we spent apart. It was wonderful, feeling just right- like she was back where she belonged, with us, even just for a while. Her return brought back a lot of other things, a tighter bond between our close-knit circle of old friends (except for the inevitable fall-out of one), old memories, remembrances of past loves, and the feeling of how it is to be reckless and young. 

But if there's one thing I've learned this summer, it's that life keeps moving, and so does everything else around you. Nothing is ever static. You can only try to rekindle the ghost of an old flame that once shone brightly but nothing happens. Nothing ignites. You only have a burnt match in your hands.

Some things change, and when you try to turn them back to how they once were, it just doesn't work. 

So you light a new one.

// It kind of feels funny now, how the blank page/screen has intimidated me into not writing when in reality, once I've started it feels like there are so many other things I could talk about- I could just go on and on, but those are meant for a different post.

Bye for now.