existence.

"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)

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3. Lacking Ability

 

My ability to complete such a simple entry every

day has become rather lacking.

 

I must apologise, but with the

chaos of family quarrels and new electronics and the yearly birthday treats,

I have not written anything.

 

Stupid.

 

I must point out that the thought of

writing in this book,

has occurred several times in my mind but

my fingers will not type,

nor will my brain think and time has slowly decided

that it does not like me.

 

These are the difficulties of diaries.

It requires effort.

It requires memory.

It requires time.

And time, as we all know,

can be nastily sneaky.

 

It can just slip through your fingertips,

and brush the hands of clocks so suddenly

the navy blue of night cloaks each house

and drags the moon from its silver slumber.

 

Time does not like me,

and I do not like time.

I will not say hate,

for hate is reserved for enemies and illness

and terrible, terrible deeds and deathly

phobias.

Time has a complicated relationship,

with everyone.

 

And now I remember that diaries,

well normal diaries,

say about the events of days and do not discuss

the philosophical matter of time.

 

Oh well.

 

Who says this diary is normal?

 

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