I like how the pages of this have gotten swollen. Have you ever noticed? Not with this notebook, mind you, but with one of your own?
(Mine won't count for you. By the time you get it, pages will be folded over, and I've already spilled some tea a couple pages back.)
My point. These pages started off pristine , you know? But as I fill them up, they sort of expand. It's probably because they've crumpled at the edges, or the wire holding them together is being bent. That's true enough, I'd guess, but I like to think it's also because this contains more than words.
The back pages (for me, anyway) still lie flat, unencumbered by my thoughts.
Maybe you don't find this as interesting as me, but you also haven't been carrying this notebook everywhere with you for the last several months, watching it fill and expand.
Anyway, it's better than writing about how I've cut every class this week or how I won't return Sam's calls.
That might make both of us worry about me.
YOU ARE READING
Minnesota Goodbyes
Teen FictionM., a college sophomore, is haunted by the events of a year ago that ended another girl's life. In an attempt to clear her conscience, she writes her confession down in a battered notebook addressed to a stranger. This search for redemption is far m...
