I've decided to begin an online journal. I like to think that I have always been the introspective type. A fastiduous kind of person. In all honesty it pains me to even think. Writing is one of my few escapes, and so I take advantage of it. The real reason as to why I chose to make my thoughts public is vague to me, but I like to think that it has something to do with the fact that mind reading is not my forte, and hopefully it isn't yours either.

I find some comfort in the concept of someone out there sharing my bizzare experiences. Who can empathize with my day-to-day life. But how would I, or that mysteryperson, come to realize that they're not alone, if those experiences are hidden from them? Locked away in the disorderly mind of another individual, a somebody they will never meet, or have the pleasure of knowing about.

That is why I believe I should do this. Of course, it's not as if I'm going to be waving the URL of my website around like I want everyone and their dog to see it; whoever happens upon this and puts the time into reading through it will have found it through fate.

Thank you.

I am feeling more collected today. My partner had the day off, and so we have been spending some time together. We have recently moved into a new apartment, which seems promising so far. Neither of us have been in this city before. It feels as if there is nothing more peaceful than merely laying beside one another as lovers do.

It's quiet here. I have had nothing to occupy myself other than reading, browsing, and cleaning. I clean so much that my hands have grown dry, and it takes everything out of me not to peel the skin. Miles pesters me over it sometimes, which is funny considering that it's usually reversed. Me chiding him for injuring himself, I mean.

I care a lot about him and his health, but he has always been a reckless man. I suppose that's where we differ from one another the most. Me, a quiet man. Fastiduous. I have never liked moving from place to place. Never quite wanted to be in the situation we're in right now. But he's always been the kind to chase a good story.

I wish I could be someone again. Though, I also wish I was no one at all. It's this constant battle of not wanting to hide anymore, and wanting to completely disappear. To be forgotten. Though at this point, I suppose I rather be here than anywhere else.

Who would I be, had I not gone through all of this? I wonder if this is how it feels to be a ghost.

We redyed my hair today. The darkness of my roots were starting to show and we didn't want to risk anything. Miles touched it up, and while I should not be agonizing over it the way I am, I just can't help it. It's in my nature.

Having lighter hair feels strange, to say the least. I never would have imagined myself to look this way. In fact, I hardly recognize myself these days. I look into the mirror and see someone else staring back at me. While it used to make me dissociate at first, I have grown indifferent to it. There is nothing I can do anyway. This was the hand I was dealt.

These past few years have seriously aged me. It seems as if I always have bags under my eyes, a sense of weariness to the way I carry myself. I haven't been to a hairdresser in 2 years. For the longest time I either let it grow to my shoulders or made do in a motel bathroom with shoplifted scissors. Which I don't reccomend, by the way, although it did add to the effect of being a runaway.

Tonight, my partner and I are going to attempt to cook a meal together. Living off of cheap, easy meals is not as royal as one may think. At least not in the way we have been. We managed to scrape up some money for decent ingredients, and while there are very few kind memories of my childhood, I still vividly remember my mother teaching me how to cook. How to make use of what we had.

I miss my mother.