An Old Journal

I used to keep a journal when I was growing up. Not a diary, a journal. I wrote down the memorable things that I did each day from off and on from the ages of ten to about twenty-four. I would write down the friends that I hung out with, the movies I saw, the games I went to, the restaurants I dined at, the places I visited, the girls I got and the ones who slipped away. I don’t know exactly why I would write things down, but I knew that I didn’t want to forget my experiences and it seemed like a good way to preserve my memories. And it worked because I just picked up an old journal and glanced through it. I relived parties and poker games in LA, the exact day I decided I would move to San Francisco, the forging of new friendships, and the time I jumped out of a plane. An old journal is a portal to the past. I kind of wish that I would have kept writing one. But is a more than adequate substitute and I’d prefer you read this than my diary. I mean journal. Journal, not diary.

Critically Rated at 13/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young


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