I don't really know if I'm going anywhere with this entry. I'll probably decide that it's too stupid to post. If you're reading this, then I suppose that I decided otherwise.

The other day I was clicking around JournalSpace. I don't remember if I'd hit "Random Journal" from the front page or just followed a favorites link from another 'blog. Doesn't matter.

At one point I landed on a journal I hadn't seen before. This journal, like so many, had a profile photo displayed at the top. This wasn't much of a photo, as photos go. You couldn't even see her face. Just the top of her head behind knees and folded arms.

But still, the resemblance was uncanny. My heart actually skipped a beat or three. Was this actually her? I quickly clicked over to her profile.

Hmmm, nothing identifiable there, so back to the journal.

I read entry after entry, moving backwards through time, and with each entry that I read I became more and more convinced. Convinced that I'd chanced upon her journal.

I also became convinced that I'd been right all along. She was brilliant, and passionate. She did have actual feelings, and she was able to express them with an eloquence that surpassed even my inflated expectations.

This girl, who'd always seemed so guarded when it came to her own life and her own feelings - this girl had found a place to express herself, and I had stumbled upon it.

I wouldn't have thought it possible, but while reading those entries, my feelings for her grew stronger than they'd ever been.

Of course all good things must come to an end, and this was no exception.

About a dozen entries into this girl's mind I read something that shattered the illusion I'd thrown together so quickly. A reference to an area of the country. The wrong area of the country.

It wasn't her.

I must have reread that sentence a dozen times, hoping that, like in a dream, the words would change with each reading. That they would change to something that would allow my illusion to continue.

The words never changed. It really wasn't her, and it never had been.

I've got that journal open right now as I write this entry. Maybe it'll inspire me or something. That photograph is burned into my brain. I was just so sure!

I'm having a tough time, right now, coming up with the proper words to express the disappointment I felt. In fact, I've given up, and I'll just list two choices. You see if you can choose the correct one:

I was disappointed because, as it turned out:

• The girl who writes the journal is not the girl I know.


• The girl who I know is not the girl who writes the journal.