Dear diary,
My day is no different than any other, with the only difference being what my imagination creates, taking me away from the sadness that is my reality. I often see no significance in even keeping a journal, for my pages can be filled in at any time for it shall be the same sad story day after day. The pattern that my day follows has never been broken. It is like a spinning wheel; it continues to spin the same way day after day; it goes through the same openings and gaps, and spins the same design.
Today I woke up as the sunlight slowly crept through the gap in the curtains up…
