Beef?

I don't want to spend my days soaking and marinating in my anger and bitterness. I want to live.

If journals could walk

Why was this happening? There, perched on the windowsill of the crisp and cluttered attic was my journal, threating to jump and leave me forever. It was choosing to destroy all my thoughts, memories, and feelings that has flooded the pages since I first picked it up off the dusty shelf the day I decided to bring it home. My breath escaped me and my heart dropped. Time seemed to stop when it looked on me as if looking at a rodent. Pity. Disgust. I turned away. I felt shame and terror as I remembered all the things I have told it, the secrets that have been spilt onto those pages in the most desperate hours.
"You too?"