I held my journal in my hands. The only one that I kept for longer than a week. Thumbing through the pages I recalled each memory, some happy, others sad, but each my own. I wrote in the small fauxleather bound book during my senior year. How long ago that seems, perhaps my teachers and counselors were right: high school is only temporary.

Thinking back I have changed so much in the ten years since I walked across that stage and took the parchment that would free me from the chains of high school, but at the same time would take me away from the only world I’d ever known, and launch me into the unknown. Since high school I’d forgotten the drama and the cliques

I’d graduated college and gotten married. Then shortly after the confirmation of pregnancy I’d received my journal, sent to me in an unmarked brown envelope. I wondered who sent it because the last time I remember seeing it was after graduation where I hid it in the school, leaving my mark on the building. I started to read, reminiscing, remembering.