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.

A person watching a candle, my life wax flowing freely. They will try to interfere, not wanting my wax unbound. Hinderances set up to bind me to form. Hoping my wick will burn out in neatness, Let my was flow sloppily forth. Making stains in the blue carpet. Let it drip messily and heave up in my well. May my fuse flicker out into smoky oblivion by the pool which my heat made. Let me drown in my own wax.

This is going to sound preposterous, but I actually started keeping a journal because I felt like I was really good at a poetry writing week we had in high school English class.