Dear Diary

January 14, 2009
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The whisper of the breeze gently tossed her hair aside. The sun beat upon her back and she shivered in the warm chill. Looking up from her solemn path, she noticed a place quiet, serene to rest. She stepped aside and gently placed her bag onto the ground. Leaning forward, she slowly sat and stared at her reflection in the water. The world around her faded to a dim blur and it was as if time had slowed for only her. She reached next to her and found her bag. Reaching within, she hesitantly pulled out that book…That little black book. Opening the abused cover, she slowly read through the words scribbled upon the pages. Tears began to fill her eyes. Suddenly something fluttered to the ground. Looking to see what it was, she reached to retrieve it. It seemed as if a piece of her heart lay there, written in pen onto those tattered note cards. Every stroke of her pen had been written in such wrath, obsession almost. A tear broke free from the cage of her eyelashes and splattered onto the paper. 23 of them. 23 goals. 23 ways she had thought her life could be better. 23 drops of blood which had been shed for those words. And now they made her cry. Made her feel old, aged beyond her years. Reading through them she mentally checked off how many of those goals she had fulfilled. Reading again she realized the ones that no longer mattered to her. And with a stab to the heart, she noticed the ones that had been fulfilled she was in no way proud of how they had gotten to be that way. Holding them in one hand, she looked up at the cloudy sky and breathed in deeply. There was a rip and she realized that her trembling fist had torn them in two. With a hesitant action, she tore them again, making four out of two. Again and again she set upon those papers until they were nothing but shreds. Then, standing, every inch of her body shaking, she opened her hand and let that piece of her heart scatter to the wind. They blew in various directions and then landed, random and scattered on the surface of the water. A gust of wind blew against her face and suddenly a smile broke out of her sorrow. She dropped to her knees and smiled, tears running down her cheeks and watched those papers float away. Reopening that black book, she turned to the nearest empty page and wrote five words --

Dear Diary,

I am free…

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theonewholoves said...
Apr. 8, 2009 at 11:31 am
Thats really good, full of emotion. I like all the description, there isnt too much to go overboard...but theres just enough to give the story purity and feeling. Very good x
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