Dear Diary

I used to keep a diary. No, not one of those girly girl pink ones with the miniature padlock. I regular Merit notebook, the one with the spine that's sewn. The kind whose pages you can't tear without another one falling out at the back.

I wrote almost everyday, which was a feat for an 11 year old that couldn't stay still. I would make lists. "Enemies" and "What I Want for Christmas". I wrote of exams, and trips, and days when I was sick. Once I wrote, "I did nothing today. Let's see about tomorrow."

Now, twenty years later, I keep a leather bound journal I bought from a street vendor in Florence.

Very fancy, very empty.