My memory is coming back. It is curious how it comes. Each day, a rush of pieces, loosely connected, unimportant bits, snake through me. They click, click, click into my brain, like links being snapped together. And then they are done. A small chain of memories that fill in one tiny part of my life. They come out of nowhere, and most are not important.

I just think perfection and lasting through the ages is for Greek statues, not us mere humans.

Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out.

You've always been two people. The Jenna who wants to please and the Jenna who secretly resents in. They won't break, you know. Your parents never thought you were perfect. You did.

Sometimes there's not a better way. Sometimes there's only the hard way.

I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead.

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me