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.

The old one returns, she of eyes of brown. It went better than I might have expected. We had much to talk about in missing 3 months and really talked about anything that came to mind with no secrets held. But still I fear her and did not touch her. In my mind I knew what I could do, but flatly refused. She doesn’t understand completely what happened that day - that night. She knows enough to not touch me. Prolonged speration is good though. Now I’m tired, she made me that way. Talked too long and kept me awake. Nap now child, let your mind roam free, find a time for you and worry little more.

I’ve already apologized to Sue, my first girlfriend, right? Let me do it again. Sorry for being such a drama queen. How you could be with me for almost two years, I’ll never know. Once more, in my mind, I managed to warp something nice like staying up and talking with a friend openly into something terrible. Oh no, she’s scared to touch you because you freaked out on her the last time she did that. Awww, and you’re tired now because she made you that way? Boo fucking hoo.