Saturday, March 27, 2010

World of Grey.


Not very long ago, my car was broken into while I was working at a supermarket. I was inside working all night, and when I walked outside with my coworkers, I noticed my back door was open. My cds were thrown around the front seats. My items were dishoveled. I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach. I checked for anything missing and called the police, beat after worked something like twelve hours. While I didn't immediately notice anything missing, but then I contemplated the fact that I carry things close to my heart with me at all times.


Having recently graduated college, I moved back to my hometown and lived in my grandmother's house, she was sick in the hospital; when she passed away a month later, my only option was to move in with my parents while the details of the home were being worked on. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing; my parents kind of respect my independence, and when they don't, they know to expect me to continue living my life. They don't snoop in my belongings or anything, but for some reason, I decided to keep my writings in my car. I had a box filled with journals of poetry, prose, and personal narratives in my back seat. There were at least five of them, and they spanned from the time I was thirteen until I was 19.


And they were stolen from me.


I was heartbroken. These were writings that weren't backed up on any computer. My innermost thoughts. Besides the sheer upset I found in the fact that someone would steal my personal belongings (and not even my music, but my journals!), I felt violated.


I've been told I'm a mysterious type of person; the person that people constantly want to figure out. While I'm not entirely sure if I cosign that idea, because I'm not intentionally "mysterious", I certainly have a problem sharing my thoughts, my feelings. I don't like people in my head.


And some person, who probably tossed them in a sewer somewhere upon realizing there was nothing worth money in the mystery box, will always make me wonder: who is reading my mind?

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