Today was a good day to remember but I can't seem to write it down
I’m not that good of a writer—or maybe I’m just not that motivated to be a great storyteller.
I am mostly just writing for myself.
Maybe that is why I can’t seem to capture my lived life: my story, or even the mere happy events of today. I know exactly what happened, and I know how it felt, but there is this nagging sensation that a bit of the magic diminishes when I try to process it into squiggles and lines for the world to discover—or even for me to remember.
Not that there was a lack of trying.
I’ve always jumped in and out of journaling. In those pages, I have argued with myself over what mattered most: what happened, or what I thought happened. I can’t seem to willingly weave the two together.
I call my brain "efficient" for it—weirdly—but in reality, maybe I’m just indecisive.
It isn't a lack of nostalgia; I welcome my childhood memories when they drift into the frame of my present. Perhaps I just feel like my stories aren't that relevant.
That can’t be it. Why else am I here?
Why else do I even publish my thoughts?
I guess it’s just one of those days where I believe what I think matters more for the future "me" reading this than what actually occurred.
It was still a very good day. 🌒