Dear Diary,
When you read this, know that that its already too late and I am dead already so do not shed your Ink; do not think I did not love you, for surely I did, as much as I was allowed to; but everything has a beginning and an end, and I suppose this is the end for me and the beginning of a different journey for you, one without me. I neglected you so.
I am accustomed to dying already, done it so many times already, but man! Every time it gets harder and harder to bear the pain- of dying inside. Death is such a dark lonely place. It’s so cold, so threatening to be all alone, to die alone and not have at least one soul to tell your story. But I am dead already, so it doesn’t matter much.
I thought I would continue caring for the comforts I cared for before. Sadly, I don’t. Dying is no different from living a half-life. For death is a half-life as it is. I go through the motions of death (Call it Life if you may) with a faraway look. The days are a blur. The food is bland, water…well that at least still tastes the same- like nothing! My legs trudge on, the lungs breathe on, my eyes look on as I live or as I die. For each moment I breathe, I die once more.
At least you didn’t leave Dearest Diary- though I suspect you would have done the same had you little windy legs and flailing arms to carry you far away from me. I know you too would have chosen to make a run for it. I do not blame you. I am a marked man and as is the way with marked men, they lose everything they hold dear to them. What is one more heartbreak? What is one more loss? What is one less Diary to keep at my chest for comfort? You do not want me anymore. I neglected you so.
Dear diary, mark my words; I will be less of a burden to you. My death marks the day I will release you from my bondage. I will rid myself of any renegade feelings I felt for you. Live a happier life than I could give you. I have to go now. Keep my secrets and I will scratch you back…