People will read this. Not many, but a few. This is a new way of looking at it all. I write and sometimes it is with that same reckless abandon, that late night, all alone frantic writing, the kind that is too raw and too real and yet the kind that you might recognise yourself in. Sometimes I post in that same breathless moment. Yes. This is how it is. Press Publish Post. And then a momentary relief because I have been honest with it.
But things have happened in the interim. People I do not know have come up to me, on the street, on a ferry, once in the foyer of a theatre. People have added their spin to what I have said, they have identified with me, placed themselves where I am, feel a sense of ownership for feelings that I am barely aware I have.
I write a post and press publish and I take a step back from the screen. I see the people reading this, I put myself in their place, I see myself through their eyes. I re-enter the site. I find the post. I press delete.
This is a new thing for me, this odd self censorship, this taking back of what I have just said.
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