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March 21, 2013
She picks up a pen. Its light weight feels like a brick in her hand. She puts it back and searches for a pencil. At least this way the eraser makes her thoughts feel less permanent.
She finds her journal in the deepest depths of her closet.
When she opens the cover the spine cracks as if it hadn't been given to her 5 Christmases ago.
She draws a sharp breath.
I can do this, she exhales.

Hello Journal, her hand scribbles.
Diary makes this moment feel too personal.
She throws the journal across the room.

Words procure her vulnerability.