Dear Diary,

Dear Diary,

Dear diary,

Today isn’t such a bad day, no it isn’t bad at all. Yesterday was perfectly alright, and the day before yesterday seemed fine too. I don’t know what’s wrong and maybe nothing is wrong at all. Then, why do I keep feeling like something is? Why does that feeling of something is seriously wrong keep tugging at me, keep pulling me away from everything, keep asking me to listen to it? I am now, so tell me what’s wrong?

The whole world is listening now, so tell them what’s wrong.

But it couldn’t. It kept its mouth shut, its hands tied, its words all jumbled in a labyrinth. It is telling me to tell everyone that some things are not just as apparent as they seem. It wants me to tell you that maybe not every problem has a solution and it wants me to tell the whole wide world to just please leave it alone.

But no, I don’t want to leave it alone, diary. It’s killing me inside inch by inch just thinking about it. I know there is a perfect term for it but I just couldn’t seem to pinpoint what exactly. Could it be depression? But why? I am almost perfect if not for my lack of height and size of mammary. I am the luckiest girl I know and I think I have everything I could have ever dreamed of. So why depression?

Maybe it’s not even depression I’m looking for. Maybe it’s something more complicated that scientists and wise men have yet to discover. Maybe it’s nothing at all.

The snow is falling again. The urge is calling again. I want to release myself from this web of intricacies so so bad, diary. One leap is all it takes to be freed from this wheel of life. One small step and the tiniest energy one could muster.

And that’s all it takes to be free again.

But no, wait, what about the hundreds of people who know me? What will they think of an act so selfish and thoughtless? Will they still think of me as the girl they once knew, or will they cringe in shame for this girl lying flat on the pavement? All tangled in her own limbs, not breathing, blood seeping from her wounds into the snow, into the cracks of the floor, dried up forever.But you know, diary, I think lying there like that is not as pathetic or gruesome as people might think it is. Come to think of it, it is really peaceful and serene. Amidst all that whiteness, amidst all that screams of horror, and then there’s me. Me lying face up staring at everyone in the world. Me being enveloped by the snow. It’s my element, do you know that?

Tick tock. I don’t have time to waste anymore.

Goodbye diary. The world is all white and pure now. Let me leave before it turns ugly again.

highly fictional.