Dear whom this may concern:
If you are reading this, something bad must have happened. I promised myself long ago, that the only way anyone would find this out from a journal, was if I couldn't do it myself. So whether I am dead right now or forever leaving the grid I know it's getting bad; worse then anyone could have ever imagined.
But as I write this, it's only the beginning; or as they say, the eve of the storm on the cusp of summer. And while many things may be a mystery to me, as I begin my trek for answers, I know one thing for certain. They're after me. Now, I can't tell you who because you might not have the clearance; but if by some miracle you do have the clearance, my name should say it all.
I'm honestly not sure I'll survive until my next birthday or even through the summer but my hopes are high that this journal will. In this small notebook, I have told my story, which is one as old as time itself. I have inscribed here, with my messy scrawl, a story about a boy and a girl; trying to live through stolen moments.
Realize now, that he told me not to do this. He said it would turn out bad, really bad; that it would just give them more reasons to want me, but I couldn't help myself, not with the way things are going now. I feel like someone should know, even if it's you, a stranger, who picked this up off the side of a Roseville street.
I sincerely hope you will read this and pass it on to your children; because the moral of my story is true for all people, not only spies. Because while some may never seek pain, the pain I feel now was worth the trouble. I'd rather feel a hole in my chest now, then to have never known love the way we did.
Always,
The Chameleon