I was right there, and yet I still can't believe it really happened.
I suppose it's partly because I didn't write about it that makes it seem so, I dunno, like I was dreaming all of it.
So I guess this journal is good for some things. If I use it. If I let myself use it.
I got so used to imagining certain things. Using fantasy to fill the holes in my life that disappointment kept revealing to me.
And then imagination and fantasy and reality collided and merged and even fused for a while.
I wonder, was that the night I got my life back, or it merely the beginning of a new end?
I wonder, if this is merely a sequel, will it be as good as the first one?
Sequels are almost never as good.