I looked through my old writing. I tore up the journals.

I looked at the binding. I felt the binding as it came undone. I heard the satisfying rip.

I think of every time I ever opened a journal in all the years of my life. The many, many, many times. I wonder what it means that I don't open a paper journal anymore. I wonder what it means that I journal digitally. I wonder what it will mean in another decade when there is no binding to rip.

When there's no reason to scan.

When it's all part of the machine. When I'm part of the machine.