It's been about two months since I've been here, and for good reason too. I suppose this blog is where I can really be myself. Without pretension, without trying. I remember saying once, offhandedly, that people can grow calluses over their soul; they protect the soul but also deprive it of the warmth it should be getting. People cannot see through the callus. And so, I suppose, we generally don't bother with what we can't see. To everyone else, I say, that's fine with me, but it really isn't fine. If I would remain unkissed and happy, I would choose that. But it's been done. It's as though people know what I've done. Maybe this is what a guilty conscience feels like. Is there reason to feel guilty? Maybe.

If I could stop being so contrived. You see, I'm not trying very hard at all, it just seems that way. If only this were a dream, and I woke up, and knew that I dreamt that I grew up, and I was five again. I was happier when I was five. If you ever get the chance to take a look at some of my photographs from days of yore, you'd probably find me pretty cute. Guess what happened? Life happened.