Little Diary Romane & Geschichten

Spent on the closet floor. The trip ended. But the watching continued at home. Closet in bedroom. Strangers or friends. Always me watching.

Dear Diary, Hi. It's Gabriella. This is the first time I've kept a diary so excuse me if this turns out awkward. I decided to write because something weird happened to me last week - until now actually - and I badly needed someone to confide in since I don't have any friends.

Enjoy the journey ............. Emily POv : I was rearranging my cupboard, sorting through the piles of clothes and forgotten items, my fingers brushed against something unexpected—a diary. My diary. I paused, feeling a rush of memories flood back at the sight of the worn, weathered cover. It had been so long since I last laid eyes on it, tucked away amidst the clutter of my belongings. With curiosity, I retrieved the diary from its hiding place, feeling the weight of years past in my hands. As I flipped through its pages, the familiar scrawl of my own handwriting greeted me, each entry a window into moments long gone but not forgotten.

Didn't she hide it properly? This diary was a mighty one, big and heavy. The cover was lilac, decorated with drawings of hearts and sparkles. The spine had been cracked over and over again, and the pages were unable to lay flat because of how many times they had been written inside. But it was mostly still intact. It was so big that I wondered when I would even complete the reading, it surely won't be today.

**David’s POV** Here in my New York apartment, as the relentless city rain echoes my mood, I find myself repeatedly drawn to the old, worn pages of Scarlet’s diary. This morning, the echoes of last night's indulgence weigh heavy, a migraine pulsing in the background as I numb it with the usual analgesic. But the diary demands attention once again. I flip to the last entry, a letter penned for me, her "Bumblebee," written in a moment of profound solitude and clarity.

It feels wrong to invade her privacy, but a longing to understand her more fully overcomes me. The diary opens to a page when she was just eight years old. Her words paint a picture of a lonely, struggling child, missing her parents, and longing for a simple meal. I read about her sadness on birthdays when other children celebrated with their families, while she hoped for a piece of cake or a shared chocolate.

She marvelled at her erratic heart beats and wondered if they would ever get normal in his presence. As she searched her bag for the comb, she found the small handpocket sized diary that she bought in a thrift store a long time back. She opened it and skimmed through the enty pages of the book when a crazy creative idea popped up. Smiling to herself, she picked a pen from the nearby table as she decided to write about all the beautiful memories she had with Ronan the previous day. This way, she can relive them whenever she wanted without missing out on even the smallest details. Excerpts from Anya's Diary:

“Sure. You've read through the whole thing right? It was part of your lawyer duties?” He nodded. “Both sides of the case read through the diary.” “And what was the first entry date of this ‘diary’?” “Two years ago.” “Did she mention that time she broke her big toe? Because that was a landmark moment in her life.” Harrington paused. Then hesitantly said, “No.”

The open diary, the small secret, slips from my hands and drops on the floor with a thud. It’s me.

The cool air of the closet welcoming back into the real world. But then I saw it, "What is this?" I picked it up. Feeling the smooth texture in my palm, "A diary?" I muttered, confused. "She has a diary?" I didn't waste time wondering, so I flipped it open. A perfectly neat handwriting presenting itself in several pages. "Day 1; Mom says I'm getting married soon. How? Do 10 years old get married too?" I blinked. Eyebrows furrowed at those first few lines, then I turned to a few pages after.