What one must understand is that this journal is a supplement, a mere record for my own personal gain. This is one side of myself that is often drowned by the others. I often write about how I feel over how I am doing or even what happened. If I claim that I feel like dying, worry not. My resilient heart shall beat on.
No. I don't think I'm special.
This is a record of mourning, and not even mourning lasts forever. One night I might realize that my resentment is gone, and I might decide to close these electric pages. It might take another six months, or it might take twelve years.
She was the first, after all. They say you remember the first. Not that I'll ever forget the second...