This really doesn’t deserve a title.

I’m really not in the mood for writing. Or, I am in the mood. But I have no idea what I want to write. The words don’t really come out like I want them to. I don’t know what to talk about. There are so many things, and there are so few. Everything is constant change and perfect stillness at the same time. I want to talk about the girl I’ve started talking to. But I don’t really know what to say. I made the move. That’s really positive. I might actually be learning from all these hopeless posts about my own shortcomings. She’s really sweet. A bit younger than the people I normally talk to. She’s quite energetic and she feeds my desire for adventure. We’re making a bunch of plans. Plans we probably won’t ever get around to, but it’s nice to have someone to make plans with again. Someone who also believes in the possibilities of the impossible. I want to talk about my new apartment. But I did that in my last post a few weeks back. I’ve begun moving in. Got an insurance today. “So grown up” – you’d say. I never knew what you meant when you said that to me. Was it a mocking tone? Was it simply just wonderment because you never thought I’d grow up? I’ve told you I was a real-world Peter Pan, and I believed it when I said it. And I’ve told you that you were the only one for me, and I believed it when I said it. I used to think things about you that weren’t nice. There are so many things I’ve done that weren’t nice. There’s so much darkness everywhere. I don’t know if I’ve become better or worse at navigating since I let you go. It’s probably much the same. I actually don’t know if it’s doing me any good. I know I worry less about you – mainly because I don’t think as much about you. I know I have too much time on my hands without you. I have to figure out a way to keep track of time; I need to make a schedule. I’m squandering my time. I need to prepare for exams in January. I’ve by no means started working on that yet. I’ve by no means started yet.

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