Ever since I was a young child, I was taught that to guard a secret is to lay down your life. Turns out, this teaching was true, except, thus far, it hasn’t been my life laid down. These words, now, live only in my memory. And from what I’ve learned, the memory is the only place safe from those who would thieve my words away. Besides, it’s not as if those who would take my words would remember them the way I do; or even remember at all. The memory is a powerful thing.

November 22, 2007.

Dear Journal,

Guess who I saw today? As you may have guessed, it’s my birthday. Well, anyways, he said that now that I’m fourteen, I’m old enough for jewelry of my very own. He got me a locket. It’s such a dainty, little thing; quaint, precious, and special, only to me. He had it custom designed by one of his brother’s friends. A tiny little willow tree with vines that twist and bow lovingly around the edges of a cross. He’s such a Catholic, to a fault. Nevertheless, it’s okay, because I can understand why he loves the church so much. I still can’t tell you his name (I know mom reads everything I write), so I’ll just say, I’m completely and utterly in love. Don’t laugh. I know I’m fourteen, but even he says he’ll marry me someday, and he’s nineteen, way older, smarter, and wiser. I’m sure of it. Well, I gotta go. Mom made this weird type of chocolate lava cake I’m not supposed to know about, and she’s calling me down for my surprise birthday party. I mean, come on… seriously, who wouldn’t notice the like fifteen cars parked on the side of the road half a block away. In front of the house no one lives in. Duh. Well, see ya.

Love,

Skeeter