It's interesting, weird, and sad how you can go from telling your best friend pretty much anything to not really having anything to talk about at all anymore. It makes me feel a little empty and inadequate above all, but also really gets you wondering about the depth of your friendship.

I have the window open in my room for fresh air, and tonight it poured down rain; it's the best kind of weather because I get horribly inspired to write some good angsty poetry. Or depressing poetry, whatever mood I happen to be in when I get that writing urge. It's funny though, I get in such a good mood about having that writing inspiration, but yet the results of that productivity are far from upbeat.

Here's a tidbit of what I wrote tonight, I will possibly expand the poem later when I gather more ideas...

Time

There was a time when
I could tell you everything
Now those moments are few
and far between
So much I've kept to myself
For fear of hurting feelings
and destroying dreams

I'm going to miss you
when I'm gone
But I will still love you all along.