Webster's dictionary defines Alexithymia as an "inability to identify and express or describe one's feelings." I never thought I'd be able to relate to that sentence at all, let alone feel defined by it. I was always good with words, I've lived and breathed literature for as long as I can remember. Then the month of February 2016 came around, and falling in love with someone on the Hollywood Hills in the middle of the night introduced me to an infinity of alexithymic thoughts.
It's strange to think back to that year, when naive, seventeen year old me was obsessing over high school and college seemed eons away. Maybe now, at twenty nine, I'm still just as naive. I'm still the guy who spends too much time in fictional worlds rather than his own reality, I'm still the guy who is spending what some call their prime writing down the adventures of him and a young girl, and their story. But I'm doing it for a reason. I'm telling you this because I believe that the world is full of too much nothingness, and that if I can write my story, maybe I might just mean something to someone, somewhere, somehow. I like to hope I meant something to her- the girl I am here writing about- but I hope even more that I can mean something to you, whoever you are, whatever you believe, however your mind works.
I'm getting ahead of myself, though. So let's rewind back to where it all began- the cafeteria of Langbrooke High, on a winter's day in 2016.
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In Her Handwriting
Roman pour AdolescentsWhen Jack Danes was four years old he was best friends with Lorelai Hunter. Now she's back after 9 years apart, and the two of them have enough family troubles to write a sitcom- each. With Jack's best friends along for the ride, memories of childho...
