Hi.
I’m so glad that you noticed me!
I’m here, always have been and my owner has thumbed through my pages every single night, but never has she asked for my name, asked how my day was, and nor has she pondered my opinion on the words she writes in me. But you are. You would like to know. Wouldn’t you?
You probably have no clue what went on with your daughter, which is why you’re holding me in your hands right now, juggling me from your left hand to your right hand and so forth over and over again in quiet contemplation. It’s actually making me quite sick.
A lot has occurred and she has many feelings, probably more than you could have ever imagined. You try to sympathize, you try to say that you know what she’s going through and that it doesn't give her the excuse, but, truth is, you can’t remember exactly how you felt back in November 13, 1989 when hottie of the week winked at you that one time when he passed you in the hallway when you were in high school just like her before he went off and started making out with the head cheerleader right in front of your locker. You can’t remember and you know that deep down, though you refuse to admit it, which is why you’re here now, currently opening my leather binding.
Are you filled with adrenaline now that you’re reading your daughter’s first words? These words are her own, they are hidden so deep that I alone know and understand her every secret and why she’s kept them.
Him,
One word, yet I
Think of him
And him only.
Him.
I think of him
Late at night;
You would, too.
Him!
I wish he could see me!
I wish he could breathe me
As I breathe him.
No, no, don’t look away! Don’t be nervous. It’s too late to go back; soak in my pages!
Is it strange that I need him?
I need him like air.
Yet he doesn’t need me.
Him.
He throws me into despair.
I’m drowning,
But only he can save me.
Him
I didn’t quite approve of this entry. Even though I was new to her at the time, just beginning my journey to make my acquaintance with her soul, I knew it was a bit far-fetched. However, as I stated before, she has never pondered my opinion.
Is it starting to make some sense?
No?
That’s why you’re turning to my next page.
Who knew?
Who could have guessed
What a smile could do?
I didn’t know.
I couldn’t have guessed that
Just his smile would change
How I felt about myself.
Did he know?
He couldn’t have imagined that
His smile,
Meant just for me,
Could have sent so many butterflies
Swirling through my stomach.
Who knew?
Who could have guessed
That we would grow closer?
You see? It already began, yet you had no clue. She never told you that she was falling in love. How secretive was she? You flip to my next page gingerly. Silly. You know the ending, what’s going on now, but the process is so much deeper than that.
James,
A name overused,
Yet it has such meaning
In my heart.
Hilary,
A name he’s only just learned,
Yet he seemed so pleased by it.
Every time
He embraces me,
Even for just a quick hug,
It sends jolts of electricity through me.
Electricity.
James.
You are electricity pulsing through me.
Can you smell her emotions as you flip through me? I bet you can’t sense like I can.
I guessed and dreamed
And I prayed, but I never knew.
I never understood love.
It is pure.
Yes, I feel it, I love.
I understand now.
All my guesses,
All my dreams,
All of my prayers,
Never could have prepared
Me for him.
James.
Such a sweet sound.
James.
Such sweet swirls on this paper.
Of all my years sitting on shelves, whether it be in lonely bookstores or left avoided in someone’s home, I’ve never seen someone so happy as she was when she wrote that. You must have noticed a change, too. You must have seen it in her eyes or in her smile when you spoke to her. How could you not have seen that she was so hopelessly in love?
On to the next entry. Are you prepared?
We’re in secret.
Secrets.
He told me it was okay.
He whispered such
Wonderful things.
He said he still loves me.
He still loves me.
Yet no one can know.
He says it’s okay;
It must be okay.
I’m beautiful.
He isn’t ashamed.
Ashamed.
He still loves me.
Secrets…
Do you feel suspicious now? Are you questioning the days when you watched her, yet never said a word? She noticed. Believe me. She knew that you had your suspicions and she tried to be careful. She wanted to keep their secret.
Skipping ahead? You thumb through my pages as fiercely as she did the night she wrote the entry you’re about to read. My pages are still stained with her tears. Aren’t they?
Inadequate.
I never used this word
To describe myself.
Inadequate.
That’s what I am.
To him, at least.
I gave him everything.
Everything I am
Was given to him.
Everything!
Inadequate.
I am inadequate.
After all this time,
Just inadequate.
I loved
I loved
I loved
God, I loved!
Inadequate love
For a boy like him.
Days and hours
And minutes and months,
Yet my time was simply
Inadequate,
Worthless.
This is when she started to die. I felt her agony with every stroke of the pen on my pages. She put so much of herself into me that I started to feel as if I was dying, too. You’ll never understand her pain, her fear, her torture like I do. I still feel it.
I’ll win.
I swear I will win him.
What happened
To me,
To us,
To him?
So much as happened so soon.
So much has occurred.
God, help me!
He can’t be gone!
Not now.
Not after all that has happened.
I’ll win.
I won’t lose this battle,
Not with all the others ones I have to fight.
This one I must win.
He’ll see.
He’ll remember.
He’ll remember loving me
Because I’ve never stopped.
And I never will
Stop loving my James
I thought she was insane. I begged that she give him up, yet she can’t hear my cries. Not even you can hear my words.
Fighting.
Nothing but harsh words.
Nothing about how much
The other must suffer.
If they knew I suffer,
Would they stop the shouting,
The yelling,
The smashing,
The pain?
I need to see their happiness.
Their smiles are the sun to me.
I need their sun
For my own strength
In my own battle,
But there’s only fighting.
Damn the fighting.
Damn it all!
You remember this time. Don’t you? You must. I heard the screaming, too. When your daughter and I sat in the dark room at night, we heard. She cried. Did you know that she fell asleep crying at night from both her unrequited love and the incessant yelling you both put her through? Every shouted word was like a knife into both her and I.
Hate.
How can he hate
When I do nothing but love?
I only love,
Yet he hates.
How can he hate me
When I gave him who I am
And he gave me who he was?
Are we nothing?
Are we as people
Nothing but scraps?
Hate.
I hate.
Yes, I remember this day. It wasn’t so long ago. You skipped closer to the end again. You’re growing impatient. You just want to know her last thoughts. You need to feel and understand what she felt. You’re already feeling a little bit of what she was going through now. Aren’t you? That’s why you’re staining my pages with your tears now, too.
I am dead.
Ah, the last page.
I am dead.
No one sees.
They see a smile;
I feel a knife.
I am dead.
No one cares.
He doesn’t care;
He damned me to this feeling.
I am dead.
It’s a horrid feeling.
Release me!
Please, take me from this pain;
It is too much.
It is all too much.
I am dead.
Oh how I wish I really was.
This is my sanctuary,
Yet even this is not enough;
Words only do so much
To keep me away from my pain.
I am dead.
Goodbye.
Yes, finally goodbye.
I land with a hard thud on the ground. Looking up, I can see you. I feel each tear drop heavy on the carpet and vibrate through me. Now you understand. Now you see how it all happened. Your child had so many secrets. And she kept them all until now. What will you do with this knowledge? I have shared it with you. And now I am gone. That last entry was her goodbye to me, too. I won’t be kept. No, not with all the pain written inside. I’ll be tossed out or burned. Some find the burning of paper to be a beautifully tragic affair. They can stare into the bright flames as the paper curls and changes color and they can love every minute of it. Now that it is my fate, I do not find it to be beautiful, only terrifying.
My owner and I will meet the same fate.
We will both be gone, our existence will vanish.
The only difference is that you will only care for her. I will be born without someone caring for my existence and I will die with the only person who loved me already gone.
Tragic, isn’t it?