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Weekly Contest #36
Hey dear diary. I forgot all about you, if I’m being entirely honest, which is something I’ve promised myself I’d do more often. Be honest. You were a birthday present. Courtesy of my mother. A slim, spiral bound notebook. Covered in pink. I hated you. And I did. For years. I was twelve when I unwrapped you and hid you in my closet. I went through puberty, high school, the big firsts, without you. The mere existence of you was an insult. Of course, it doesn’t seem like that. But I knew it was. You were pink. Ever since I was born, my mother ...
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