My journal. The one that I took with me everywhere. The one I wrote Just Down the Street, Across the Ocean in. The one that I took with me to Paris cafes, the beach in Miami, the pool in Ft. Lauderdale. What do I do with you now? Well, to start, I wrote you a love letter.
Transcript. I’m not sure what to do with you now that the book is published. When I open you and feel your pages, I can feel it all over again. The joy and, of course, the pain. Oh yes, the pain. I was only first beginning to learn what I know now. The answer to the broken sprinkler and the tears that stain these pages.
When I flip through you, you tell more than one story. There are loose pages, receipts, hotel memos, stuffed within you that threaten to fall out and get lost forever. Memories that threaten to get lost with the passage of time.
What shall I do with you now? Fill the rest of these empty pages? Leave you to get dusty and yellow? Forget you until I need you to help me heal again?
I don’t have the answers. But I will do what I always do, I will write until it all makes sense.