mulligan.

I click on old names, old notes but their diaries don’t exist anymore. Why do I go back when I know it’s going to make me meloncholy, why do I read me from the old me when I know it’s just going to hurt the adult me? I feel like I’m grasping at myself, who I was, trying to remember what was about who and what it was like and how I was feeling. I was a kid, the world was always ending. I know I can’t have it back, but God, please let me do it over again. I long to feel something so real, so passionately, so fully, not this boring life of an adult and mother. I long for the unknown and the passion and the lost loves and the it-feels-like-life-is-ending. Could I just be half my age again, live my life again, feel so deeply about things with no  significance again. It’s like I’ve been a hundred people, lived a thousand lives, but only this diary has the proof because I don’t even remember half of it. Without this I wouldn’t remember I had fun once and took chances once and had talent once and now I am lonely and bored and needed. I get like this sometimes, certain movies, song, reading my diary from the begininng, and my heart wants to explode with the desire to know that that is me, I’m still that girl. But it hurts so badly I almost wish I hadn’t come back.