“Why did you start doing this?”
“I guess I wanted to say something”
“So say it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“What changed?”
“I wanted to tell them that life is beautiful. That it all meant something. Now I’m no longer sure it does.”
“So tell them that.”
“But they may judge me. Or worse, they may get upset.”
“The truth isn’t always pretty.”
“I know that. I guess I just wanted to…”
“You wanted to what?”
“I’m don’t know. What if this just isn’t for me? Writing, I mean.”
“You’re doing it right now.”
“I guess so.”
“So tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“That maybe life isn’t as beautiful as you thought it were.”
“Maybe life isn’t as beautiful as I thought it were.”
“Good. Now, why not?”
“Because I am in the biggest city in Sweden with two million people and I still feel lonely.”
“And that makes life not beautiful?”
“It’s not that it’s not beautiful, it’s just that it’s lonely sometimes.”
“Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“You wrote “sometimes”. You could’ve written life is lonely always but you didn’t.”
“I guess I did.”
“And you know what?”
“What?”
“You said it. You told the truth. Good for you. That’s the first step. Now you can tell them other things that are true.”
“What makes you so sure of this?”
“Because I’m you. You’re having a conversation with yourself, buddy.”
“I really fucking hate you sometimes.”
“I really don’t give a shit. I got you to write.”
Little Pocket Journal 