As I glide down my bedsheet, allowing my face breathe fresh air after heavy hours of sleep, I woke up. Woke up to something dinky right below my legs. He wasn't crystal but was pure, he wasn't a mirror but reflects me, he wasn't bitter but was true.He was It was my journal , my dear diary.
I opened it with squally for either missing the old me or just missing the days of innocence. I wasn't sure. When I opened it , I was freshen up with flavours and fragrance of chocolates as I had those wrappers stuck in the old pages. Papers were pale and weak. I realised my diary is getting old. The pages got wrinkles as my grandmother has got, as teeth falls when we grow old, my inked words faded and faded away just like that . As I slide my fingers through the words, I thought why did I even write this? sometimes I laugh out loud and sometimes I just turn it to skip the heavy ones . The journal showed me the life I lived and wished for and the life I have ended up now. I just got to see my diary dying along with my words. Makes me realise that i have grown enough to read and realise my life .
Dedicating this to my journal or may be this could be the eulogy for the same.
©agalvili
A