Isn't it Weird?

I don't know what's more silly, the fact that I write as much as I do or the fact that I get more joy out of the ones that no one reads. The stories, poems, songs, and whatnot that I keep to myself. Or the ones that I post and one or two people read, then they are forgotten.

Don't get me wrong, I love it when my stories get readership; it's a pride thing. But I do love the ones I keep inside. The ones that have only touched paper, never the keyboard. Ones that no one may ever see. The stories I will probably spend my whole life perfecting.

And I can prove that, too. I have a story (all ten drafts of it) that I've been editing, revising, rewriting, and generally messing with for... oh god, is it 2012 now? Wow. Eight years. The original is dated for January 2004. Wow. Weird, isn't it?

Anyway, this was just me talking to myself, not really a public thing. I just like to write to myself and I hate livejournal and all those. This is where I do all my writing anyway.

Goodnight/morning all!