10/11/2021. 19:00.
I... don’t want to spend long here, typing this up. I start work in a few hours and i haven’t gotten much sleep today. Unfortunately i’ve been sick and the only reason I’m going in to work is because I can’t call in for a fifth day in a row so soon after being hired.
I got my new bed in today so I spent the entire afternoon getting rid of my old mattress and bed frame and waiting for my bed to inflate. Went to the store to get bedding, and I just ordered a bed frame so that should be here on the nineteenth.
That’s.. just an update. That’s not why I decided to write up another entry. Really, though, I should be writing every day. It’s good for the brain.
I found out the truth about you, Vagabond. But.. were you really going to talk to me again? Or was that just a ploy because I tried reaching out, desperately, for the billionth time in the past couple years.
No, it was simply the timing and the proof I had that you were still there, that you felt like you were backed in a corner and had to respond to me.
I don’t know how I feel. How should I feel? Abandoned? Betrayed? Alone?
I don’t feel much. I might not even feel anything about it.
I love you, Vagabond. Six years of friendship, eight years since I met you. Two years since it ended. I’m happy you’re still alive. I’m happy I met you. But I think I need to let go. Clearly you don’t feel the same.
I will no longer be addressing my entries to you. You are not my motivator anymore.
I predicted I would die before twenty-one. Well, I’m twenty-one now. And although I’m still alive, a part of my prediction came true.
On Sunday, September 29, 2019 I lost myself. And I had to adapt, and become someone else.
I’m not who you knew. How could I be, after all this time? I’m sure you’re different, too. I would love to catch up, talk about world events and how it’s affected us and our respective countries.
But that won’t happen, and maybe it’s for the best.


















