Thoughts Diary Novels & Stories

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:

"I need you to be patient for a few days." I said okay and he left and I sat on the edge of the bed and thought about a few days on a single floor and tried to figure out how to make that manageable. By the third afternoon I had read two books, done three gym sessions, reorganized the library shelf twice, and had a long conversation with Ivan about the pastry place that went nowhere because we could not go to the pastry place. I started the video diary mostly because I needed somewhere to put things. Not for anyone. Just for me. My phone propped against the books and me talking to it about whatever was on my mind.

​The morning air in Oakhaven was sharp, carrying the scent of pine and impending rain. I sat on a crate in the square, my mind reeling as Dorian spread the contents of a rusted metal box across the wooden table between us. It was a time capsule of a life I barely remembered: polaroid photos of faces I couldn't name, letters written in a youthful, looping script, and a dried flower pressed inside a diary.

People will notice in any attitude towards them but they won’t notice their behaviour that made you change. ATHENA Dear diary I know you must be wondering why i always disturb you by writing my thoughts in you. But you're the only one who knows my darkest and deepest secrets. You should consider yourself lucky.😜😜

As I glanced down at the diary once more, I pondered the extent of this stupid mess. I just have to do something real quick

and for me to prove that I’m no longer the girl he can bully. I fished my diary entry and looked out of the window of my apartment. Some people might regard writing a diary as an old fashioned juvenile activity. But for me, it's a way to process my thoughts and emotions. I used to write a diary in school, but I lost it on the day of graduation. In a way, it was good; I was able to start fresh in my adult life without the weight of my past entries. I slipped into my bed and closed my eyes. Tomorrow was a big day. ********************************************************

He has thick dirty blonde hair and those blue eyes that make me question everything, and his voice…God, every time he speaks, my pussy slicks up regardless of location and audience. Fuck audience, my body knows it should be under my step brother even if my brain says otherwise. I look over my shoulder and then bend over to write the new thought that has been plaguing me since he arrived from New Jersey last night. I need to write the things no one should ever see in my diary. Things no good girl should ever think of during a fun family time. Everyone else is busy playing with snow and decorating the outside of our home while I'm…busy. They have no idea the pictures I draw in my head and the

Says maybe one day if she really trusts the person. *Her laugh changes when she’s genuinely happy. I want to be the reason for that version more. *Has a fantasy about being fucked against the window where people could potentially see. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. Page after page, it’s all me. Random notes and little observations. Things I’ve only mentioned once in passing. Things I thought only I knew about myself. I slam the journal shut, breathing hard. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.

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.

Instead, she shifted gears, asking, "What were you reading?" I snapped my fingers, and my journal reappeared in my hand. It was a treasured possession, filled with entries spanning the past 100 years. I had amassed a collection of these journals, each one a testament to my love of recording every detail of my life. I wrote about experiences, adventures, thoughts, plans, and ideas - nothing was left unrecorded.