It’s just another random day at work. I’m having to go through more stuff that people have left behind, whether on purpose or accident, and organize it all for them to find.

As i’m sifting through the stacks, I find something more interesting than normal. I find someone’s journal, or what some people call diary, and I get curious about what’s inside it. It reminds me of the journal I used to write my stories in and it makes me remember the stories I wrote in it. 

When I open the journal, I see a few different names on the left of the first page. It makes me realize that it’s a journal someone used at the end of each school year to communicate with friends. There are multiple signatures, as much as young kids can write, and their family’s phone numbers. It makes me remember those earlier days when kids did that sort of thing.

I hope whoever lost this does find it because it seems to have been important to them at one point. Whether they know it or not, each of these different journals or stories they write themselves are a part of who they are. 

The journals I used to write definitely affected who I was. They gave me a method to cope and a way to calm down and not have distractions from dealing with my problems. This kid probably used this journal as a way to distract themself from the very same thing.

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