re-reading the freewrite

well these are your bones anyway. yours to scrutinize, yours to hold, yours to know over and over again. that's why you write, to remember yourself, although you didn't know that at the time. no, at the time you wrote because it was the only thing that made you feel a little better than aweful, it was the only way to release all the secrets you couldn't keep down. but now that you're past all that, now that you're new or perhaps, just a better version of the old you, because you've changed these pages take on a whole different meaning. these are your bones, hard pieces that seem to glow in the dark, they are that white. these are your bones, tablets like the beads of an abacus, calculating your years. is it trying to look upon them, these pages of freewrite? do these bones haunt you? good. then what you wrote did it's job and what you wrote is meaningful.