Ali, Jac, xoxo

They say that there is a big hand pushing our puzzle piece hearts to their destination, but somehow it's harder to believe in that when you got misery pulling you in another direction. "Life's about the journey, and not the destination" though, right? I've isolated my guts and my pain from my life, guarded in a tiny glass cage next to my "I used to's" and I guess it's been working so far. Naturally, holding too many skeletons in a closet and it eventually erupts, and that's where my writing comes in. Even then, as lonely as I felt, there was a sense of camaraderie and understanding from the most unexpected of all places.
I don't really remember how it all began, but I had just finished reading Camus' The Stranger and I was just going through a nihilistic crisis. I felt like my life was a fuck on a trainwreck. This was just supposed to be my "diary" of sorts, written with such disparity that only I'd truly understand. I guess that the core of it all just screamed what it all truly meant, and you guys just got it. That's just what it came down to.
I'm not very capable of expressing what I feel (oh, the irony. You can only go so far when English is your second language, though.) - and I swear it's not on purpose, but I don't feel like I've ever let you all know of the importance of your sole existence, and my appreciation of it, so thank you, for everything and every minute spent reading the words that heal me, because every comment read by you guys is another stitch to the wound. ((damn, how's THAT for a run-on sentence?)) It's an honor to receive the sense of camaraderie- no, friendship, that I do from you guys. So, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you forever and for everything.