Dear Diary, Yo Blog.

Dear Diary,

I’ve been thinking about you and me quite a bit lately – about how much we have both changed over the years. I can clearly remember your first incarnation. I was nine years old and you were a little square book. You had a lovely soft leather cover in green and a little gold lock with a key that worked. I wrote in you every day. You were not so much of a “what I did” sort of a diary, more a “what I felt” one. I poured my heart out into you. You lived under the mattress and your key lived in the drawer under my knickers and I thought my secrets were safe.

One day, you had moved while I was at school – just a little, and your key was in a slightly different place. I was no longer sure that my secrets were safe. You were nearly full of writing by then and I was finding that your pages were no longer big enough to contain my thoughts, so we said good bye and you were re-born a couple of weeks later. Your new hiding place was harder to find. You now lived behind the big hard-backed books on the bottom shelf of the bookshelves in my room. You had no key, as you were a discarded excersise book from school. I never did have much time for spelling.
I was more cunning by then and in your old, green self, I wrote occasional short, dummy entries – boring “what I did” notes that meant nothing. Your green self moved fractionally on occasions, but your new self never did, so I thought my secrets were safe.

Then one day, I came home from school and the world was in an uproar. Unbeknown to me, we were moving house and my parents had spent the day packing up. My room was nearly empty, a row of sealed boxes the only evidence that it had ever been lived in. When we unpacked at the new house, you in your excersise book form were nowhere to be found. I dared not ask about you and I never saw you again.

For a long time after that, you were physically absent from my life. I still wrote to you, but only in my head – long, detailed entries that explored and explained my life as I saw it.

Now, you have arisen in yet another way. You are both much bigger and much smaller than you were. Bigger in that I need all this wizz-bang machinery to produce you on, smaller in that you are, in your raw form, invisible to human eyes. You live in binary form, translated byte by byte from my mind to your memory, pixelating your way across the screen, there for all the world to see – if they know where to look. You do have a key and it is much harder to find, but I know my secrets are never safe.

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