My Dear Diary

My Dear Diary: April 5, 2011 Your pages seem ancient now that I read, smudged yellow/brown your core does bleed. Frail pencil and black ink running and weak, all words of feeling ultimately unique. Scrawled letters were hefty but rather neat, heading; my dear diary, with hearts petite. Quick phrases that tell of everyday woes, with a flair of imagination in each compose. Some pages were smeared and sealed with a kiss, revealing loves to cherish, reminisce. Some pages had tear drops scattered about, handwriting was shaky and full of doubt. No time did you answer, I told you all, I spilled myself empty as I recall. You made no judgment either right or wrong, so my dear diary, you made me strong. Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey