writing
Me, but Not Me
Looking back at old writing and confronting the stranger who seems to have written it.
I would often wonder how i wrote whatever i wrote back then. Whenever i look at them or read them i don’t see myself writing them at all. It’s like i was possessed by some entity before I wrote what i wrote. Every word and sentence is pure act of someone else but me. It gets a little weird when those writings begin to relate to what i am in today. It’s like i knew where i would be and wanted to take a shot at me when time is ripe. Everytime i read my words, i see someone else other than me.