Thursday, July 14, 2011
I remember finding that journal for the very first time, I was twelve and another autumn had just begun. I sat on the floor in the library all through the quiet night, hypnotically reading. As I got to the part where he decided to leave New York and move to Los Angeles I cried as silently as I could so mother wouldn't hear. It was a painful reminder of what a good person he was, and what a poor choice he made.
Now, years later, I can also see how all those choices affect us throughout our entire lives. Nothing he ever got was what he really deserved, except maybe for a daughter that loved him more than anything. And I'll never know if he thought it was worth it.