Once upon a time I got a diary for Christmas. It was a beautiful shade of blue - that perfect tint that the sky never quite imitates. The cover was padded, with vines of pink flowers and green leaves. And golden letters declared "My Secret Five Year Diary." The pages were gilt-edged, crisp cream paper, firm and smooth, with narrow lines because I was a big girl now and could write small. And I faithfully reproduced the boring details of my life, in slow and careful scrawl, for all of five days.
There was a lock on this diary too, all filigreed gold. And there was a key, which I kept attached to the strap in case it got lost. I think I already knew nobody would want to steal my secrets. After all, they weren't even interesting enough for me to keep writing them.
So now I have a blog. Ironic really. I wonder what I'll do with it.