mel in the milkyway: Rip. Tear. Shred.

currently: have fingers covered in ink.

So I just spent the last hour or so physically shredding up paper into a bag that's meant to go out to the recycling. I didn't need to shred, nor did I have to shred paper by hand because we actually have a paper shredder in the house. Somehow it's just really therapeutic for me. Shredding up this paper into really little strands and pieces. The ragged edges and the sound of shredding...strange enough it's bringing back memories.

I think of the time when I was 13 or 14 years old. I wrote a letter to my current "love" at the time. It was about 2 pages long on both sides of lined refill paper. I wrote it one night feeling really happy about how he was my boyfriend and how he made me smile when he smiled at me...usual naive puppy-love crap. After a couple of days, I still had the letter hidden away, and I looked at it, read it, then shredded it up into the tiniest strands of paper that it wasn't recognisable. It became a puzzle too hard to put back together. I teared up the letter never to be read by anyone else, never to be remembered by anyone else but me. No one, not even him, knew about the existance of that letter till now. (And that boy probably doesn't read my blog so he'd never know.)

Sometimes when I write out words, I write them out for the sake of the words to touch the air, then return back to the earth. Or to be kept hidden away like treasure, only to be discovered long after my shadow fades from this world. I think about what will happen to my diaries that I've had since I was 8. They are not the best kept diaries, but there are some diaries (specially in that time where I was 13-15) that hold a lot of emotions and events. And the notebooks I keep now with my song lyrics I write daily, I wonder if they are worth writing if there may never be a time where the lyrics will be matched with music. But I write them out anyway. I've been writing a new song (or part of a song) everyday for over a year now. Who knows what will happen to them 2 years from now.

I've heard before that words are disposable. They can be thrown around without meaning. That the words that escape our mouths end up being unable to do anything, not being able to change anything. I never want my words to be like that.
But I'll still shred the words that aren't to be read, because the ones I shred up are the ones with too much emotion that I could never share.