Diary Everyday Life Novels & Stories

* I got tired and bored so I started digging into Leena's stuffs. Remembering the box I found,I quickly made for it and brought the diary out. The first page was kinda boring. Just filled with lyrics and half written words. I found it hard to understand what it was all about. I flipped more pages and something caught my eyes in the middle. "...dear diary, it's dad's death anniversary today. I miss him. I wished Mom had died that night instead of him. Life is so unfair. Taking what I care for and dumping me with the least choice I could ever make, MOM."

She was a breath of fresh air, honestly. I woke up early in the morning feeling like a train just mashed into me. I sighed and entered in to the bathroom. Today things were going to be different. First I needed to start with writing on that diary. After taking my bath and getting dressed. I had about ten minutes before going down stairs for dinner. Dear Diary I paused. This sounded so boring. I wanted to make my diary seem like my best friend, I had never owned one before but I was sure as hell not going to make it boring.

“Thank you.” “It’s all good.” She got up and went over to the counter kept at a corner. Bringing a notebook, she gave it to me. “I know that I can’t remember much after a few hours. Most days, I—I can’t even remember that I can’t. So, I started writing everything down as much as I could. I want you to take this.” I took the pink diary and flipped through the pages—it was at least fifty pages, all filled completely. “But, uh,” I chuckled. “Isn’t this kind of personal?”

Her giggles floated up into the kitchen like music, harmonizing with the low hum of the radio and the occasional rustle of pages turning from the open newspaper in front of Raymond. It was a morning without an agenda. A rare kind of peace. The kind that invited you to stop long enough to notice just how beautiful the ordinary could be. I moved through the kitchen slowly, barefoot, stirring porridge and flipping pancakes with a lazy rhythm. Raymond looked up at me over his cup of tea, eyes soft and curious. "You’re glowing," he said. "Is that a compliment or a concern?" He chuckled. "Definitely a compliment." I glanced at the gratitude journal resting on the counter beside the stove. The edge

"No. We should apologize instead." We held each other and broke down in tears. Leonard was still in a critical stage. Meanwhile, the content of his diary was published on the Internet. The diary recorded every moment we had spent together. I sat on the bench outside the ICU, and my phone kept vibrating. "Liv, have you seen the news? Leonard's diary has gone viral on the Internet!" "Oh my God! You guys had such great memories together!" "He loves you so much…" I tapped on my phone. The topic at the top of the trending list read, "high school memories of Leonard Burton."

Chapter 1 Mia’s pov “Fuck I look so trapped in this mirror every single day,” I said under my breath staring at myself in the small bathroom of our two story family home on the outskirts of the city. My long dark hair was tied back neatly into the ponytail my mother always insisted on. The modest blouse fitted snug over my breasts and the knee length skirt kept everything covered but it couldn’t stop the growing ache I felt deep inside my body. At twenty four I was tired of living this borrowed life full of rules and expectations that choked the real me who wanted to let loose and feel alive.

I suppose that if it happens I would like… I think it is the best option to not forget anything —she whispered, and the melancholy that dragged in her voice reached my chest. —What things do you write? I inquired, partly curious, partly trying to divert her mind from melancholy thoughts. —At first banal things. I started in college, so the first few are just homework, mom's appointments, what she had forgotten, paying the bills. That kind of things. She—she She turned the pages until she reached the top of the diary. Then I started writing about my day. I still put in the routine, important meetings or calls, but I also added what I was feeling, the people I knew, the places I went to, my fa

She asks. "Well, what is a diary? You write down shit you did in your day. I have a calendar, I don't need to write it down again" I tell her defiantly. "It's a habit that develops mostly through childhood. It can be helpful to work through your feelings" Dr. Elizabeth adds.

Inside, the journal lay open on her desk, a new entry scribbled in bold, steady lines: "Day 1 of recalling who I am. And who I've always been, even when forgotten.”

I closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart under my ear. “And what do we write?” I asked. He was silent for a moment, considering the question with the same seriousness he had once given energy signatures and funding freezes. “A life,” he said at last. “Ordinary mornings. Ordinary arguments. Ordinary nights where the only countdown is how long I can keep my hands off you before I stop trying. You learn the house without restrictions. I learn how to exist without a war to organize my hours. And every day from this point forward, I wake up and confirm that you are still here—not because a monitor says the residual line is flat, but because you choose to stay.”