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 truth is so grand, it’s hard to believe it’s true. Everyone wants to love and to always do the beautiful thing. And there is someone who would love you with more than they had available and whisper things that had echoed hollowly in your head, not so long ago. The world is beautiful, everyone has a scar of greatness inside that’s been there since they survived the age of 5. The world really does smile on us and the sun shows us it cares with a warm feeling and the most beautiful person really is you.

Hmm, now I seem to be in a poetry phase. Again, I wonder what brought this on.