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.

I never did get that secret, and it doesn’t bother me that bad. Maybe it’s because it’s so-far past, maybe I’m not too partial to forcing it upon someone. I’m leaving now, taking a break from this book and from this place for who knows how long. Taking a break from little boys and their secrets. I feel recharged, and maybe this place is my Green Lantern, who can say? Gotta go now, love you. Bye.

And I still can’t remember what the hell this secret I’m talking about is. Damn.