He has hurt me more than any other friend has with his words. . .

And yet, I still have the capacity to love him dearly.

Sadly though, it is a love different than his. That alone condems my conscience to the depths of despair.

It’s a funny thing, communication. All sorts of drama come from the lack of, or misunderstandings involved with communication.

Let’s not create excuses or reasons though.

Those silly things are just as dangerous as time bombs.

It’s crazy to look back and see the way you were.

I mean, for me, major changes have happened in a matter of months. I look back to this summer and see myself slipping away. Now that I’m back on campus, it’s like my head is clear again. I realize who I’m supposed to be and I’m able to be it, without questioning others.

To my understanding, I am a social anomaly. I break societies rules and standards as often as I can. Mostly because my morals are different. I believe that nothing is impossible, but simply improbable. I refuse to group and categorize others. I love my life, my friends and my family more than the tallest piles of riches in the world.

I guess you could say I’m a serial sociopath. I know I could fit in, be normal. . . but I’d rather prove the impossible to be, well, improbable.

I’ve decided to dedicate this blog to the dream I had once; to be a reporter.

Journalism in it’s many forms has always intrigued me. I love the stories in newspapers, the photos in magazines, the elegance of a well written story being told. I did have a dream once, that I was a reporter. I had a side-bag, glasses with thick rims, a coffee in one hand, a pen in the other and a camera around my neck. Dreams are so silly though. . .

_{I don’t wear glasses.}

But here’s to that dream, of pages and pens. Maybe someday I’ll need glasses and get a side-bag.

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