Those Old Entries... in 2021

I’m struggling with the idea of keeping or erasing old journal entries. Perhaps not deleting them entirely, as I could export them for a bored rainy day. Even the edgiest of entries are buried somewhere where I could access them on a whim, if I ever wanted to put myself through that. I wouldn’t consider my previous posts on here ‘cringe-worthy’, however. I simply try to see through the lenses of a different version of myself when I review them. Maybe rose-colored lenses look prettier in the fall. Or maybe the desire to clean it up is because I like to keep things neat, and tidy. My nightstand, dressers, closet, and kitchen counters, too. Everything has it’s place. It might be easier to admit that this could be the case with those old entries.

The sense of unease when I read through them is palpable; like I’m being moved into a place that I don’t want to be. I find myself trying to relate to myself even just a few short years ago, and I can’t seem to. I know what was really happening behind the scenes - behind those rose-colored lenses - which is why the discomfort finds a temporary residence in my heart when I read them.

Maybe I’ll keep them in their rightful place, for now. Where I pecked them out on the balcony of my previous apartment a couple of years ago. I do miss that place sometimes.