I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something...

I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something...

My brain is weird sometimes. I guess that's a truism when you're prone to depression, anxiety, or just occupy the space outside optimal mental health or sociability, but lately I'm in a space where I'm craving both rest and distraction at the same time.

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Letters (ghosts)

One:

I don't know if I've ever been in love, but this may be the closest thing to it I've ever experienced.

Two:

I worry that the ground shifted in our friendship; there is a distance between us that wasn't there.

Three:

I use the word attraction to describe whatever it was I began feeling about you, but I don't even know how accurate that word is for the mess I've found myself in.

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Behind the lens

I haven't taken pictures in a while; I want to get back into it as a hobby. I don't want to have any expectations to meet, just a chance to play around, possibly with friends, and get comfortable with the camera and my own skills that I don't feel like I'm struggling to juggle the need to think technically and be aware of the right moment to capture the shot. I rush to get through my discomfort and it shows in the pictures. I eventually would like to get some new gear, but before I do that, I want to feel like I've mastered working with the stuff I have.

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Sweater weather

I'm at the library. The sun is out, but it's no longer warm enough to justify a T-shirt and shorts. I'm reluctant to wear the shorts anyway as my waist size is a little smaller than it was when I first bought them. I think I overestimated my girth at the time. The process of clothes shopping has never been my favorite and I end up relying on gifted shirts and pants. It's probably about time to get some new clothes either way. Nothing really seems to fit anymore.

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Nighttime

It’s the middle of the night. I look through my idle Facebook conversations, trying to decide if it’s worth sending a message this late. I still haven’t fully embraced that feature, ever since it switched from an internal e-mail system to a real-time chat engine; unless I’m comfortable enough to drop random Simpsons references into conversation or just randomly send YouTube links, I tend to fret over my choice of words and hang nervously waiting for the response. It’s worse when it’s someone with whom I have an easier real-world rapport than normal.

I usually don’t bother, though. I assume you’re asleep anyway.

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