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.

Just want you to know that before I nearly hit that animal on the road, I’m hoping you’ll forgive me for not saying goodbye and right before that killer comes out of hiding and kills me, I’m thinking how I never kissed you one last time, even though a last kiss seems impossible and right before I leave, I hope I’ll be back, but I know that it will all end good because at least I got to tell you that I loved you, something true that makes me feel true.

This isn’t bad. Tighten it up and you might have an okay poem.