I found a book lying on the street in danger of falling into one of those sidewalk draining holes. I grabbed it and stuffed it into my bag as I shuffled to the bus stop and sat on the bench waiting. After about five minutes I pulled the book out, bored and began flipping through it, there was no name marking the owner so I just shrugged it off. The handwriting was painstakingly neat almost perfect but you could see the character in the letters. I skipped over the pages just skimming until I got to the end. There was one page and then the ridges of many pages torn away. As I flipped back through the book the writing touched a long ago forgotten memory of slender hands, letters, and perfume but it was nothing clear. The memory left as soon as it had come. I flipped back to the end of the book and read the last page before the ridges.

It read…

Oh…What I wouldn't give to see your face again; to talk to you again. Growing apart is never easy and in life it's inevitable but is there a way where we can stave off the inevitable. Is it even possible?

I remember the years we let pass us as we both grew in our own directions, as I grew up you stayed the same and when we come back to the starting point it seems as though you've changed yet I've managed to stay the same. Is it possible to stay the same in an ever changing world?

I sit here writing in my diary something that I know I could never say but that's what a diary is for, right? It's my voice when I lose mine own. It says all those things which I refuse to ever say to you, the things I will never admit; the things which no one but me will ever know because a diary is secret; my secrets in a portable little book.

But truth is…I hope someday that you will find it, that you will read this one page and know; that you will know every emotion ever contained towards Family, Friend, Lover. I hope you find it as it is nothing but my lingering thoughts when I have passed on, those moments which stood out in my life, my autobiography. I hope you find it and read it. Read it to know the voice which never was, the voice hidden by lined pages and a leather cover.

Read my Diary so that you know not only was it the side of me which you didn't see but that it was me in every essence. Perhaps It was always there but you never got the hint but read and you will know….

My Diary is my life.

Love,….

And the name had been erased.