Excerpt: Dave's Journal

Hello, Journal.
I feel we should get acquainted before I write in you about the deepest thoughts in my life. I know that you are nothing more than a binder with lots of paper in you, a ring binder cover, and a black gloss finish.
You were a gift to me, you know. You have my name emblazoned on the front in a curvy, swoopy kind of lettering that makes me think of fancy dinner party invitations; perhaps stylized Old England text, formally written on a scroll of the finest parchment by the King’s scribe. I could almost imagine the lettering being used to show love for a woman by a man who spent more time at a desk than in a field.
Dave.
Vanessa bought you for me. She thinks I am troubled, and that if I write out my thoughts in a journal, I will become less troubled. She hopes, I think, that I will find solace in the steady pen movements; in writing down my deepest thoughts and my most hidden fears.
The truth is, however, that I do not think I know you well enough to divulge anything as deep as that to you. Not yet, at any rate. I am sure that the day will come, should you not divulge my secrets to the world, when I will entrust to you the things that go on in my head that I keep secluded in a metaphorical chest, hidden beneath a similar bed, behind a locked door in the far recesses of my mind.