A partial ode to my dear dead diary.
I
recently flipped through my old diary pages
Read a thousand emotions, breaking dread phrases
Embossed with so many memories
My dear diary and my best friend's reiteration
Telling her everything like did you know what
happened?
Few
dried pages, few ink smudges from the tears
A
scattered rose sits in the middle
Some subtle expressions of buried insecurities
and pain
A few cryptic memories of how things were good
Praising myself for my strength
Sniveling about how cruel the world is
I chose these moments to write in you
The moment you took all of my pain
The moment we shared all the secrets
The
moment you conceal my insecurities
The moment when I last wrote in you
Once again, I'm holding the pen today
I tried to fill in the unfinished shredded pages
As memories flashed before my eyes,
A second glance at it and I decided not to
If I ever complete you again, it may not be the
same
Time has passed and much has changed
For a certain reason, I thought
It’s
better for us to leave
Some odes, some phrases incomplete
Every
divulgence is not meant to be a state
For certain reasons now
I prefer incomplete odes and metaphors
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