Try to remember your own 19.
Ava writes everywhere. On the stairs at a dorm party, with the music going. On a dryer in the basement laundry room. In the back row of a lecture hall. Once, flat on her back on top of a concert crowd. In the library two friends lean over her shoulder to ask what it says. It says who she sat with.
Now try yours. The girl down the hall, the one you told everything to. The song. The thing you were absolutely sure about. You can see the hallway, and you can't get the words back. One woman texted us in October, "I haven't journaled since I was 19 when college became all-consuming. Then career, marriage, and raising kids." That's most of us.

