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Hidden journals.

We all keep records, those of us who have sense keep everything important stored safely away. 
Out of sight from those who want it and out of sight for our own good, because sometimes what we have stored away could destroy everything we hold dear.
Regardless of its importance.

*
I recently found my old journals, the journals in which I poured my adolesent  heart into.
Its quite funny how the tales have changed with the times, but how the hope I use to hold out for was there, somehow I had it, I had it all held so tightly that everything I wanted came to me so freely, but with greed I lost it all.

*
Its funny how time goes by, just like before I'm left an adolescent holding out for a hope that I don't know if I can bear at this point. 
The simple tales of the past are repeated in the present but with such an intensity it shatters the hope in which the believer see's life.
Its not 2005 again, I'm not stuck at a cross roads awaiting life, life began all to quickly at one point.
Life spun its web and somehow I got tangled inside it, the hope turned to greed for what I had  I wanted, and what I thought, I deserved.

I speak of the past with a smile on my face for it was all that I wanted.
I wouldn't change it for anything, my present is a consequence of the past and all that I wished for, to change that would rewrite this endless tale and change that desperate year.

Keep it near, but behind the watchful eye's of those few, for you now know what there capable of.
 

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