I hate when a writing pen dies. I find these wonderful pens that write exactly how I feel and express perfectly how a word sounded in my head, and when they begin to lose their life it makes me feel awfully ill. When a pen is done sharing my life with me, will I ever find another pen that will write the words I that need to come out? Writing means nothing if you don't have the right pen.

Is it possible to be two people at once? I suppose kind of like a split personality, but actually have two seperate life forces - completely different and independent of one another. I believe, if there is such a thing, I have two beings within this one body. I'm not crazy, just hear me out.
This me - narriator, writer of these thoughts - I believe this is the original, true me. Then there is this other me. Let's call this me Maran, for sake of understanding. Maran is confused about life. She doesn't write. She can't make decisions. She can be standing in a room of a thousand people and feel deathly alone. Every emotion is a combination of loneliness, confusion, and empathy. She mostly walks around in a world of insecurity. She is blank. LIfeless. A lot like writing with a lead pencil. Easily smudged or even erased completely. Leaving no proof she ever existed. Unstable.
It is sad to admit, but Maran has been in control of living our life for the past two years - if not longer. Sometimes I would see a glimpse of me, but it was rare and a short lived visit. I haven't figured out what triggers the changing of the two, but as long as I am in control I can write, and feel.

It is raining outside. I am sitting here with the window open soaking in the beauty of it. Of course, everything is beginning to stand in a puddle and there is a constant siren just reminding you of the over populated group of uneducated and unexperienced drivers. But if you ignore the splatters and focus on the differnt rain rhythems, you can feel the beauty.

Why do we make it so difficult to open up to one another? It's becoming easier to open up to complete stangers than people we've known for any given period of time. I guess it's beacuse we haven't had the opportunity to lie about ourselves to people we don't know.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle.