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.

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I’d rather have my friends an love than a fortune of gold. Money can’t hold me when I’m lonely, nor can it talk to me when I cry. All that money can do is sit and stare blankly back at me, without knowing who I am.

And I still agree with this sentiment today.