#24.7.17

i flick back through the pages of my notebook, every word i have written over the past year. this is the accumulation of a collection of thoughts i have deemed worthy in some way to note. a map of my mind, day to day. as a final piece, it is nothing impressive. a plain notebook, packed tight with the sprawling words of a self absorbed teenager. but to me, it holds a little more weight. it is proof, in a way, of my existence. if i disappeared tomorrow, this would stand as the statue that i have chosen to leave behind. a tiny pin in the timeline of history. i was here. i stepped on this earth and as i did, clumsily scribed my view onto paper, my uniquely captured translation of the world. and i know. hardly anyone will ever read these words. but they are there, at least where nothing existed in that space before, and that makes them matter.