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I still write.

I still write.

I was 12 when I received my first journal. It was cream in color, glazed with floral details and complete with a brass lock and a key. I attached the key to a chain and wore it around my neck every day. I feared if I ever removed the necklace, I would instantly lose the key and anyone would be able to break into my thoughts. I was probably right.

Handwritten.

Handwritten.

“We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Years Day.” – Edith Lovejoy Pierce

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