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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1849555-Dear-Diary
by Jazzie
Rated: 13+ · Sample · Dark · #1849555
Her name is Rosanne...lost, confused, and smart in the most unique ways.
Dear Diary,
To many I was just the quiet one, or perhaps the one who knew too little and thought too less about things. Maybe I was, for a moment in time. Tis can truely bring one to think, about what the three important things I'm reminded of daily. One being who everyone else views me as, and how little I contribute to these physical drugged up beings I associate myself with. Two, what I view myself as, and the lifetime of darkness that I continue to wander through inside my heart. Finally the third, is one most ignore, but always continues to exist among us. Simple, not so obvious....it's that of how the spirit's who float gracefuly and beautifulfly beside us all, choose to give us purpose, and what, we choose to respond to...or not. I remain hiddin in this place, not darkness or filled with many lights, since I am, and will never become, aware of what walks among light dwellers or what hides beneth our hearts when we enter the dark. I am, and always will continue to sit here in this place of soltitude, and that is the chamber of my heart and mind. A place none should ever travel to, or try and steal away from me. Those have tried to steal it...break it...set it to flames..but alas none have succeded. For it is not just my home, but the most strangest, bizzare, unique place man-kind has ever seen. So much that so, once you enter, it infects you with its disease of uneasiness. You shall begin to hate one another until hate is all you feel, then you shall want to run...run as far away as you can away from me...just like all the others. For what? You cannot escape...you can try...but I shall find you. I may be innocent, the quiet girl in the back of room, unable to fight or defend herself against others. But I can sense your energy inside, feel what you feel if you mind shall allow me to enter it. Like one delicate flower after another each day, and day again. If you wish to know more, I'll gladly speak of its wonders..but we warned...for after you hear of its sense of reason and all..you may want to run away..leave me for what purpose you orginally came. It shall confuse you, blind your heart, and suffucate all your dreams until you find no reason to bleed anymore. Continue viewing me as you once did, as It would please me so. I may be the quiet girl in the back of each classroom, the one with her mouth open yet no words, or the one slowly running out of reason to believe she should continue to exist among people she never started to belong with. All dirty stares and bullying among many. Who is she...to you? Oh hopes and tears..this book of mine...you never write me back...sweetheart...why dont you write to me? Did you at once, realize what you have done and decide to spend your life in silence? Do you..at all..silly me..believe you knew who I was by mere interacting yourself with me and pretending to listen? You never did to begin with, nobody...does. You, all my dearest friends who I associate myself with daily..do any of you truely know who you spend time with? I ask you this now, not the eve of my eighteenth birthday but a way around...again. If you start feeling I shall feel too, I shall always be protective of my dearest friends...who. I often am reminded of the story of the two lads, who looked into the madiens eyes and realized she was mad. They tried to run away, oh fast, but they could barely speak. Telling many towns people of this women, when she was asleep. As rumors spread and rumors go the townspeople they should know. everyone thought they knew her story and of her great demands. Her mad, mad brain and her shaky cold hands. This madien she would sit upon her chair outside as the children played. Speaking of her story to all that asked away. Years they spent by her side asking her of more things. Wondering why she opened her eyes every morning and evening. The lads grew to know you cannot tell a madien by her eyes or shape of tales. Nor can you understand her, like buckets filled with nales. Upon hearing we all find this tale comforting and pleasing. But oneday when the women rose from her old wooden chair, she stormed through the town out of truely nowere. Was she preaching, on a misson, or had she simply lost her way? She stormed in to kill two people, the mair carrier and wife from a family of 3. Never seen again this tale goes on past centuries. One cannot read a madiens heart without her special key. Oh know of her intentions if she will continue to bleed. When a women with mad raining from her eyes, and shaky hands and sits off to the side. Once mad, always mad, even when she seemed sane. One should know her well, or know her not, she will never rest in her pain. Many ways this story has been told but today I speak of one. Do not claim to know someone who your standing behind the sun. Take clues when given, as I continue to do. For all mad women who never had a clue, we are brave, not mad. Intelligent, not without a clue. Just because we cannot see what other see does not mean we are blind. Just keeping running, away, just keep running, away...for no matter how many visits you pay to our minds and hearts, in the end we do what we do. All in which remains hidden from you, but in us, it remains with a key. There is a key on the floor in front of us all, our hearts, minds, and greed. What does this mean? What do you mean? What can anything mean? Listen to not what we say but what we see, hear, and believe. Some things are meant not to be talked about, but just in silence even we scream. As I sit, myself, in the back of the class, what is it that I mean? Am I clueless because I do not know of what everyone else might mean? Be silent as you walk alone, and hug those who are afraid to scream
-Rosanne </3
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