It has been a long while since I've sat down to write. So long, that it almost seems as if I have forgotten how to get the words out.

I used to write all the time. I don't say that to mean that I made a hobby of writing. I say that to convey the very fact that I used to write all the time. Some of my earliest memories

involve me sitting on my bed scribbling furiously away in my diary about playground dramas and first crushes. Everything and anything anyone said, did or thought was carefully commemorated on paper by yours truly. And then one day, I stopped.

I think it may have been around the time my writing actually had to mean something to someone somewhere. I'm fairly certain that college essays marked the end of my days as a "writer." For once in my life, the words I wrote down on paper actually had to hold weight. They had to prove something. Someone sitting in a cramped office in some musty building at X University held my words in their hands and could decide whether or not I was worth it. I think that's when I stopped writing for me.

Even now, writing for a blog that heaven knows only I will read, I feel the need to write for someone else. I have decided, though, that there needs to be some kind of middle ground. There has to be a way to write cut and dry class essays on the detriments of society, but still find a way just to write, just for me. Just because.