Thoughts Diary Novels & Stories

' Dear Diary, I found myself conversing again with my dear friend, reminiscing about an old memory that we had almost forgotten. About Love, Struggle, and Prayer. It shook me a bit at first, making me reconsider. Can I? Should I? Can I fight, disregard all the negative thoughts in my mind? But I am afraid alone. What if the struggle doesn't end beautifully? Not for me, but for him? Should I fight? Considering that the future at stake is not just mine. But also his?

~Samantha's POV~ Dear Diary, today I accidentally saw my step father's cock. And... I can't help but want to have a taste of it. I know how that sounds. I know I shouldn't be writing this down, shouldn't be putting these thoughts into words where they can exist outside my head. But my hand won't stop shaking as I grip this pen, and if I don't get this out somehow, I think I might actually explode.

Keep shining my beautiful baby girl. This was getting weirder and weirder. I opened the diary and began reading: "My dear princess, On this day, the 25th of Augus 1995,I had thought of keeping a diary for you to reflect on for years to go.I wanted it to be one that you would thoroughly enjoy me reading to you.I saw us reading it togther years to come and I would be so proud of you my love that.As I stare at your little fit it's a wonder how you were able to come out of me but you did and that had made me the happiest mother in the whole world and I can’t wait to see you grow but I do want to be with you in every moment of your life. You are such a light to both your father and I and you woul

But the worst part is the tiny, dangerous flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he means it this time. I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The dorm is quiet, shadows stretching across the floor. My chest feels heavy, but I can’t stay still anymore. I go to my desk, grab the small notebook I keep tucked under a stack of textbooks. Not a diary. I hate calling it that. It’s just… a place. For thoughts that are too loud. I flip past pages filled with scribbles and rants, jagged lines where I pressed the pen too hard. And then I start writing.

It was completely messed up, a true-looking disaster of scribbles which he never understood what for. “I am writing. In my mind,” Xiao defended herself, “these are my writings. These are what currently residing in my mind,” she seriously said, without any hidden smile, which made the other leave a blank expression on the face, “I’m trying to write a diary. And it’s in my mind. These are currently my own thoughts,” she said once more before she looked at the notepad that’s floating on the air. It was indeed just scribbles if you take a look at them, but the truth behind, they weren’t because she was plotting something and she didn’t want anyone to know and so she hid them in her own thoughts.

Dear Diary, My therapist said I should write down my thoughts and my feelings in this journal. I don't know if this will help me or not, but I am tired of waking up in hysterical tears and not being able to tell anyone why. It is scary to see the different scenes in my head and not know what they mean or remember the circumstances around the different dreams.

" Are you serious? I mean… you said you didn't even know I would be here… " Of course! I bought it on impulse, just because I thought it was cute at the time, but I never liked writing diaries, I write on my blog, on my cell phone. Well, if you don't want to, I'll understand too… " Oh, no, imagine. I loved it, I accept it. Thank you very much. - I smile, hugging the small notebook. So many ideas came, suddenly, like a tsunami to my mind. My biggest wish now was to have as many adrenaline-pumping as special moments to record in this diary.

"Looks more like old single papers than a diary." "A single paper has multiple entries and they don't have dates just thoughts," I said going and sitting at the chairs facing the back forest that was outside. Reading where I left off: For them to be with me, them to be mine and to be theirs fully. I don't know if I'll ever see Sarin again, I feel like it's my duty to at least know where he is.

And the idea that someone else might be manipulating or watching us made my mind spiral. I got up and went to my window, staring out at the quiet suburban street. Cars passed by slowly, kids on bicycles waved to neighbors. Everything looked normal. Everything should have felt safe—but the messages had broken that illusion. My diary had been my place of honesty, my sanctuary. The thought that someone could know everything I’d ever written…my deepest, most private thoughts…made me shiver. I opened it again, skimming my recent entries. He’s mine. I love him. I’ve never felt like this before. I paused at the words. My fingers trembled on the page. Could someone really be reading these? Watching

Above all I did not want him to vent his anger on me, so, preferred going for the safe side. I stormed back into my room while blushing in the corridor. My cheeks were pink thinking about the intimate moment between the two of us. That was what had occupied my mind at that time. I open the closet and took out my diary. Yes, diary! I liked maintaining journals. My diary had records of sweet and sour experiences of my life. I extended my mind there. Well, it had been quite a few days since I had not written anything in it. My diary helped me grow personally and captured events that passed by instantly.