I write letters to people I am not speaking to, people I am speaking to but cannot say it out loud yet, and once, memorably, to a flat I used to live in.
None of them get sent. That was upsetting for a while and then it was not. The writing does the work; the posting was never the point.
This journal is a little like that, except the drawer has a door on it now and occasionally somebody I have never met opens it. That still surprises me.
Written by Rez