I can stare down at this hand that once held yours and see flashes of all the stories we made to tell. But the thing about stories is they always have an ending and even though you are the verb to the noun that is me, I have to accept that our last page has already been read.

Entry 11/19

Dear diary,

Lately (okay fine, for months really) I’ve been doing this thing where i reach out to him in my mind. I tease memories and try to relive that last moment, just to see if I still feel anything. And though I want it over, though I want him completely purged from my skin, it still surprises me when I feel nothing. Nothing. Where the pain or even the once joy should be, there’s a void…like he never existed at all.

It’s not that some twisted part of me still wants to find him. No, I want his place in me to stay vacated. It’s more that I keep visiting the spot to make sure he stays gone. I keep fearing that he’ll sneak back undetected and stab my mind and my soul when I’m not looking.

And today, he finally did.

It wasn’t because I stopped looking. I’d been standing guard with weapons on my tongue ever since the cool weather crept in with October. But I never expected the bastard to come at me through a friend.

Naturally, I ran…pushed away, blamed. A friend doesn’t deserve that. My head knows this. But my heart is a different matter. It’s taken this long to be okay. I don’t want to let a single bit back in, even if it is just a ghost of memories passed on the face of someone I love.

Dear diary, what do I do?




It’s been almost a year since we last talked.

Not that I’ve been thinking about that fact every day,

Oh God no, ha!

No, I stopped thinking about you ages ago.

I’m only writing this because I thought you might drop me one of those ‘hey it’s been a year and I’ve missed you and hope you’re doing well and maybe you’ll see this and say hi’ kind of messages and I wanted to make sure to tell you…



I’ve stopped the kicking and screaming

Now I’m sat in your chair

Staring at the place

Where you used to lay your hand

Wearing your shirt

It doesn’t smell like you anymore

Nothing is like you anymore

Except this hole in my chest

Something I’ve noticed

When we have the same dreams and desires, we chase them with a shared selfishness that fulfills us both and knits us together. 

But when our lives start to be so different from one another, chapters between us, selfishness is the knife that slices us apart and leaves us abandoned.

Not a priority

You say I’m way too quiet

And maybe I am.

It’s not that I don’t have things to say…

It’s just that I stopped thinking they were important,

In light of your never ending chatter.