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Apparently.

Apparently it has no meaning. Apparently, it’s trash. Apparently, no one believes in it. 

This has turned into a diary, one that feels more like scattered thoughts than something worth keeping. I’m starting to think I might abandon it, the same way I’ve abandoned my other diaries. Maybe it’s weakness, or maybe I’m just tired. Vulnerability with bad writing feels like a dangerous mix right now, like I’m exposing too much without enough to say. 

It’s strange how something can feel so heavy yet be so meaningless. I can’t let myself hold on to something that doesn’t seem to matter. It’s like pouring feelings into a blank page, but when you step back, you realize there’s nothing really there—just words that don’t connect, ideas that fall flat. I can’t let this much be attached to so little.

But for now, I’ll leave it here, unsure, like everything else.

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