Remember those times in the past when you tried to keep a diary or a journal? Back when everyone would do it and write about a crush, a secret? But as you grow you turn to friends, a blog, a twitter even?

Not me. I still write a diary. Sort of. I lost it. Again. Somewhere in the house, because I'm so forgetful and careless, so I'm starting a new one. This was a Christmas gift to me from my mom, since she knew I lost my old one.

So, first thing's first: a name! Because I don't like calling you "diary" or "journal".

"Sweetie, go to bed now. It's late and you have school tomorrow," mom called from the door.

I sighed and nodded without looking up, finishing up my first entry.

Well, I have to sleep. I'll name you tomorrow.

Good night, (:

I closed the book and slipped the lock back on. I pulled the book away and admired it.

The base color was a sky blue with a light brown stitching lining the top, side and bottom. It was a medium-sized book, not too large, and had a small silver lock on the center right. On the front cover was a small blank silver plate where I could carve in the name of my journal; mom knew I would like that.

I grinned happily, placed the journal on my nightstand, and snuggled into my warm, soft blankets.