Мне девять лет.

I ripped up the past year's entries in my journal. It was more symbolism than anything; just a ritual for my own sake, my own well being. I still won't forget one moment of the slums of my life. Regrets are high definition movies eternally playing inside our minds. (J. Comeau) I'd put quotations around the previous sentence, but it's not recited verbatim therefore quotation marks would have been inaccurate. I've digressed. Continuing: I have collected all the scraps of my life in a little Yu-Gi-Oh tin; I have not yet decided if I want to finish this ritual by burning them. Quick disposal. My other option is to throw away the box, shreds intact, as a means to get them out of my head. Go to a landfill, preserved. However, out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind. I mean, either would work.

I have granted myself a fresh start. A clean slate. Redemption. A second chance. Whichever title you choose to associate with it. Although, I don't feel as if I've gained enough brownie points to even consider rewarding my self with another chance. Well, hell! I give out millionth chance to people who do not deserve it whatsoever, but who am I to decide if they do. Deserve it or not, that is. I mean, if they don't deserve it and are granted it, what makes myself any different. "Equality!" I will shout. I don't deserve to be equal.