Thoughts Diary Novels & Stories

We little appreciated the difficulties of our task. For these reasons, and perhaps because the very names—Gallipoli, Dardanelles, Constantinople—sounded so romantic and full of adventure, I determined to revive an old, if egotistic, hobby of mine—the keeping of a diary. Throughout the Gallipoli campaign, therefore, almost religiously every day and with very few exceptions I recorded, as I have done in the past, the daily happenings of my life and the impressions such happenings made on me, and the thoughts that they created. The diary was written by me to myself, as most diaries are, to be read possibly by myself and my nearest relations after the war, but with no thought of publication.

I jumped out of bed quickly and headed straight to my desk, picking my diary up out of the drawer. This diary was invaluable in managing my day-to-day life. I recorded my mood daily and a summary of the events of the day, I also kept track of official functions and pack-related affairs in there so I didn't forget a single thing. Every morning I wrote a list of the things that I needed to do that day. I turned to the page that should have held the list that I clearly remembered writing as soon as I woke up on the eve of my anniversary, but the page was blank.

I asked her and then walked off. I went to my room and got ready for dinner but something that Jasmine said clicked to me in the shower. Is it just me or do all of us get our best ideas while showering? Katherine was always writing something in a journal. If I am not wrong, maybe it will have her feelings and thoughts before she passed away. I will be able to read into her mind, and what happened before she died. But where am I going to find her diary? “You have been lost in your thoughts again,” Logan said and I looked at him.

Some fear it. And some — like Ravi — deny it. I started keeping a diary. Not for the usual entries about daily chores or college notes. But for feelings. Sometimes I wrote about the way my body felt after those secret moments at night. Sometimes I wrote letters — unsent — to Ravi, begging him to see me, to want me. Sometimes I wrote fantasies — ones I didn’t even know I had. Each word bled emotion. Each page carried the weight of years of suppression.

** Three days has passed since I arrive here at the resort and now I’m thinking what do I really want for myself… I seem to forget what I really want… when I went here what I wanted was to clear my mind but that seems to be not working at all. I’m now talking a morning walk as I admire the sunshine and later on sit on the sand and watch it as it come out from the water. I smile, sunshine or sunset makes my heart race and I know exactly the reason why… it’s always him, there’s nothing new. I decided to keep a diary. For an unknown reason after writing a letter to Luke, I know find myself finding a pen and a paper and write all my thoughts and address it to him like everything is okay between

I forbid myself to think about anything other than the diaries spread across the floor. — Yes, Ari. I think I found something.

A diary! Does she write diaries? Impressive. I was suddenly curious to know about her. What she wrote there. I opened the first page and was met with a not so clear handwriting but it was beautiful, "Hey dear diary, from now on you are my only friend as no one wants to talk with me because of my stuttering problem." The mention of the stuttering problem gave me goosebumps. It felt familiar!! HER thoughts came to mind. My hands tightened on the diary.

Today felt different, like the start of something new. I reached for my iPad again, scrolling through my ideas for the next vlog. One idea caught my eye, a simple yet powerful concept: "Moments That Matter." It felt fitting, almost poetic, given the events of the past few days. I wanted to create something that celebrated the little things—the laughter over coffee, the encouragement from friends, the quiet victories that often go unnoticed.

He can’t build a wall high enough to keep out every whisper, every fearful rumor. The world is watching. The thought is terrifying. Like I’m on display, a spectacle, and people are pointing and whispering and deciding my fate from afar. I picked up the journal Anastasia gave me. Maybe she was right. Maybe writing this down is the only way to keep from drowning in it all. To track the madness, the fear, the small moments of hope. I opened it to a clean page, my hand trembling slightly. ☆Day… I don’t even know. Feels like years and minutes all at once.☆

I knew exactly what I was looking for. The diary. It was a small thing; black leather cover, slightly worn at the edges from how often I had held it. I had kept it in this room for years before I left. It was where I wrote everything; every thought about Dean, every fantasy, every shameful confession I could never say out loud. Pages and pages of it, all about him. About how much I wanted him, how much I hated myself for wanting him, how I watched his movies over and over just to see his face.