So this just happened – my 9-year old hands me an old, half-ripped notebook, with folded computer paper sticking out (the old kind with the perforation on the sides – remember those?)

Turns out it’s my old diary, and I’m like 😳.

The goods are exchanged between his hand and mine, and I find myself strangely apprehensive of what lies within.

He asks me what the sheets of paper hold and I answer that I don’t know.

So I unfold them – less for him, because he’s already moved on to something else by now, and more for me. As their contents emerge – released into present time – I find myself staring at.. well, myself; just me from a time way back.. a very different me.

The details of those sheets aren’t relevant here – not in their entirety. But the gist is this: they’re communication between an old college boyfriend and me, when things had reached their end.

What’s important isn’t so much the words, or specific content: it’s what they stand for – that endings are never easy. But sometimes, we need them stated out loud, in order to embrace closure, and move ahead.

An Old Relic Dusted Off


The Clown Head

The Clown Head

An eerie legend loomed over the remnants of an abandoned carnival, in the small town of Ravenswood.