I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

It was nice to meet someone new. We weren’t pretending to be anything less than we were and said whatever came to mind. Luckily, I had a mind today. Did I talk just to talk? Did I have something to say? Did I have other intentions? It’s unclear at this point, but I know what I want so fuck all this thinking. What happened has happened and what will happen will happen. That’s the wonderful thing about life.

Wow, pretty intense entry for just describing getting into a casual conversation. Was it really so rare for me to talk to someone new back then that I felt the need to go over it so much in my mind?