i cant help but feel the urge to chasten myself for being the weepy old romantic i am, evident just from my blog - the celebration of the tortured soul that burns at the tip of a lover's tongue, a crushed aluminum can clattering noisely, but unnoticed, along the side of the road while cars speed by as frozen rain falls from the overcast sky.

fraility, mallability and softness were not attributes i would have celebrated a few years ago. what caused this change? what happened to the impenetrable heart, refusal for intamacy, my stiff, unwieldy desires? what happened to the petulant girl who fought fiercely for what she thought she believed in, regardless of who it hurt, just by the words being said. for a while she thought she did everything right, she got what she wanted, she thought she was a glowing inextinguishable light.

it would be easy and dull to say puberty happened. or maybe certain things had forced me to stop resisting softness, and to embrace my emotions, allow myself to be shaped and moulded, rather than to shape and mould. it is only natural, to do what is right and instructed. maybe i just let my "true self" through?

at this point, i find myself confused. how to i tell the story of a person? a person who has lived within me, as me, and is me. do i know myself best? or does someone else who knows my life?