Nobody is Going to Read Your Journal

If you’re anything like me, you probably spent a considerable portion of your childhood fervently begging for one of those esteemed Justice notebooks. Nothing matched to the allure of the pink, fuzzy ones covered with squishy, glittery initials on the front. Mine was proudly embellished with the letter “E” and, like most of my treasures, spent most of its life beneath the veil of my twin bed. Its existence was marked by a handful of entries, random doodles, and fleeting thoughts before fate led it to a dusty box in the confines of the attic.