Feb 2015
Dear diary, (November, 21st)
The moment his lips brushed against mine, I knew he was the one. Jolts of electricity passed through my body. He pulled me closer, grinding me against him. I wanted to get closer than this; as close as possible. I wanted to merge us together. I wanted us to be one.
Our lips moved in synchronization. His scent was leaving me intoxicated. He was my addiction; I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.
Dear diary, (December 14th)
He said that we would have a future together. He said that I could trust him. He made my life worth it. I looked forward to each day, now. He was 17, diary. But age was just a number, wasn’t it? And, love was supposed to conquer all, right?
He was flawless; yet imperfect. His imperfections were so beautiful. The twinkle in his eyes, the melancholy laughter, the curve of his jaw line. He was a canvas, and his scars, bruises, flaws made him a masterpiece.
Dear diary, (January 2nd)
He said that he doesn’t love me anymore, diary. He said that I was too young. But I’m 13, diary. It’s just four years. We could be able to do it.
Was this just an excuse, diary? Did he want to get away from me? What did I do, diary? Am I not good enough? I don’t know. He took my capability to think, diary. He took everything way from me.
Dear diary, (February 24th)
I saw him with another girl today, diary. He looked happy with her. She was beautiful. Her hair dripped of gold, her eyes were the blue of the ocean. She was a sight to see.
They looked good together, diary. His tall frame and her petite body. Her elegance and his roughness. She was 16, too. They didn’t need, to make their relationship work, diary. It was already perfect.
Dear diary, (June 7th)
I sit here today. The summer is wind blowing on my face. She is sitting right next to me. Yes, diary. He left her too. Today I realize, diary, people use you. They leave you. They think of you as a cigarette. Later, you think they change. They never change, diary. They just get better at hiding it.
The moment his lips brushed against mine, I knew he was the one. Jolts of electricity passed through my body. He pulled me closer, grinding me against him. I wanted to get closer than this; as close as possible. I wanted to merge us together. I wanted us to be one.
Our lips moved in synchronization. His scent was leaving me intoxicated. He was my addiction; I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.
Dear diary, (December 14th)
He said that we would have a future together. He said that I could trust him. He made my life worth it. I looked forward to each day, now. He was 17, diary. But age was just a number, wasn’t it? And, love was supposed to conquer all, right?
He was flawless; yet imperfect. His imperfections were so beautiful. The twinkle in his eyes, the melancholy laughter, the curve of his jaw line. He was a canvas, and his scars, bruises, flaws made him a masterpiece.
Dear diary, (January 2nd)
He said that he doesn’t love me anymore, diary. He said that I was too young. But I’m 13, diary. It’s just four years. We could be able to do it.
Was this just an excuse, diary? Did he want to get away from me? What did I do, diary? Am I not good enough? I don’t know. He took my capability to think, diary. He took everything way from me.
Dear diary, (February 24th)
I saw him with another girl today, diary. He looked happy with her. She was beautiful. Her hair dripped of gold, her eyes were the blue of the ocean. She was a sight to see.
They looked good together, diary. His tall frame and her petite body. Her elegance and his roughness. She was 16, too. They didn’t need, to make their relationship work, diary. It was already perfect.
Dear diary, (June 7th)
I sit here today. The summer is wind blowing on my face. She is sitting right next to me. Yes, diary. He left her too. Today I realize, diary, people use you. They leave you. They think of you as a cigarette. Later, you think they change. They never change, diary. They just get better at hiding it.
