Poetry

On a second note. I realized something the other day as I reading a few poems I had written and started crying. It doesnt matter how its interperted to anyone else. It matters with what it says to you. Where you were when you wrote, what thoughts were in your head. And to be honest I felt kind of stupid sitting in my car readding a grubby piece of paper and crying. But damn. Just took me back to the moment when I wrote it. And I couldnt cry then, so I did now. Maybe when I read it again now, I wont feel sad, even though I will remember the moment. I dont know just a thought...