Dear diary,
You've been lonely. These days you sit at a corner of my room and dust, layers and layers of dust, are your only friends. I'm sorry, i'm sorry that I've now forgotten how to write.
These days I get lazy and I'd rather talk, not write. These days I sleep at 10.30 if possible and my life has no room for a 30-min confessional diary writing time. For that I'm sorry.
It's my birthday today. Friends start talking to me and wishing me happy birthday. But all I can think about is you.
How you walked me through my darkest days, most from hall life, and how at one point of time I relied on no
One but you.
Dear diary, I'm sorry that you are now neglected. I love you, but these days I love leaving thoughts in my mind even
More.
Dead diary, give me some time, I will come back to you.
