Dear Diary

I kept a diary when I was thirteen filled with unreturned crushes and one-liner pain.

I kept a diary when I was thirteen filled with unreturned crushes and one-liner pain.

Now, I turn the pages, running my fingers along the words as I read them. It’s a old habit – keeping track in the dark. I can feel the parts that have been etched into the paper by a pen pressing a little too hard. What were the words that you really wanted to write, I ask myself. Who did you think you were writing for?

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