I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Fear not, Sara, I still think of thee, eyes of purest blue, soul so purifying, my hand in envisioned destiny, I love you, and with you know peace. Please love me, even if I never see you again, Love me forever, and I’ll see you once more in beyond.

On the one hand, this is really sweet. Here I am writing secret love poems to the girl I have a crush on. On the other hand, it’s pathetic because I don’t have the balls to write her a letter or make a phone call. And on yet another hand, it’s kinda creepy because of that primitive border comic of a hand crushing a heart.

Sigh…eighteen was a truly magical age.