Three Years

Today I met a part of my old self on Mibba, someone I no longer recognize or remember. I recall only bits and pieces of what it was like to be here, but now that I'm back, I feel that old energy drifting through my veins. It's feels like an impossible and forbidden feeling. I imagine it to be like diluting molten lava in water without it cooling and hardening.

Three years ago I sat behind a computer screen and agonized over the words I put down. Three years ago I struggled to write away the agony of my suffering. Three years ago, I was somebody else, somebody I no longer recognize. It is interesting all the ways in which we change over the years, isn't it? I remember how desperate to be good at writing I used to be, how much stress I'd put myself through as I wrote and wrote and wrote. Here, I wrote as someone looking for approval. I always dreamed of being like one of the old veterans on here, an expert at my craft. No, expert is the wrong word. The word I'm searching for is kind of like God, but it feels different...less supreme and egotistical, two words which are the farthest thing from describing my personality. I have no ego. I am a humble person, your average run-of-the-mill writer. A working-class student merely struggling to get by in life.

Anyway, I remember sitting here in high school with all the time I could possibly ask for and without a care in the world. Now I'm in a university wishing I had taken advantage of that time, for now I seem to have none. I've been itching to get back into writing, but this time not to gain approval. I want to do this just for me.