Dear Journal,

I have watched the sky turn gray for 31 winters now.  My finite number of breaths are patiently watched over.  Death has walked beside me, waiting for only me to nod so he might finally be able to bear my heavy load.  Though I know he is there I continue into the unknown.  I yearn to find honor where only dishonor has lived.  Strength where I have proved weak.  I yearn to find out the rest of my story.