It's funny, how speaking to no one in particular can be soothing.
I know that a few who have the time or enough care, will indeed read this as they've always read my journal entries; no matter how trite or infantile. Still, I speak to the air because I need this weight off my chest. I tend to speak and need certain responses or need no responses. Sometimes I need certain reactions.

What do I know, about what I need? I have my own biases. What I need is completely objective.

I spoke to the air throughout high school. Sometimes, I fear letting my mind spill onto a virtual pad can't be done anymore. I fear the wrong people seeing it and deeming me weak-minded or a threat to myself or worst of all, unfit to work where I do. I delve too far into details past and insignificant. Sometimes, it's just a comfort. Suppose it's a hobby from having too much time with myself or too much I didn't Want to see or know about my surroundings, growing up. I can speculate forever. It never bores me. It'll eat at me pretty savagely, though.

...

Do you ever realize that you want things that are far too ideal to ever exist outside storybooks? I wish things were a certain way sometimes. Life is the lover you were never attracted to. Or beats you occasionally?