These journals span a lifetime of thoughts and yet they reveal nothing in their pages. Extended rambling sentences, half finished thoughts scratched here in a frenzy I cannot contain. I am, though I can never be, and so I strive to become. Something dark pulls from beneath the surface. Something unmasked, yet it remains hidden even from my own eyes. A word skipped as a rock may dance across a river to the safe haven of anonymity. Merge the course, find a way, survive the minefield of being. Reluctance can show the way if you listen close enough. All that I have never been is what will be left of me. To be picked through and sorted, it will remain a mystery. For if I revealed the humbled child, you would break her spirit and eat her soul.