Of January 25
I know where it is. It has been months and all sorts of things have happened in between, but I still know exactly where it is hidden, safe from the prying eyes of others. I open that clearbook sandwiched between old files and stationery on my desk and slowly, carefully— as if whatever I had to get was fragile as flower petals— I slip it out of its hibernation. There it is, smooth and unblemished...