December 31st, 2015

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December 31st, 2015

       "Another start of a new year; we watched the fireworks from the rooftop, and even though there were other people up there, I didn't feel worried. People see us every single day, I've gotten used to being just another face. Occasionally I've asked Ophelia if my name has popped up, and so far nothing has. We didn't stay long atop the roof, given that the temperatures were below zero and it was snowing; the fireworks looked amazing among the snow. As soon as they were done, we went back home; whatever heating issue there had been, it's fixed now. Ophelia pulled out her journal, and so I did the same, but she fell asleep within a few minutes.

      Sometimes I wonder what she might be writing; does she document everything like I do? Probably; with lives like we have endured, writing every good and bad event down on paper actualizes it. If we were to ever forget again, we'd have somewhere to start. After I put her to bed, she sleeps like a rock some nights, I noticed her journal was on the arm of the couch where she had been sitting. Half of me wanted to look, wanted to see; she'd gotten into my head before, and I never got into hers. But I closed it, shut out the temptation because she tells me everything anyways. It would feel wrong to read it, even glance at it, because I couldn't imagine if she read some of mine. These ones, well, I'm still not sure I want her to read them yet. Maybe in the future, maybe when I feel the need to stop writing things down because I feel safe, then she can read them.

       Eventually, I hope she does."


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