I stare at the picture unblinkingly. I recognise the girl but she is so different. The sunlight on her unblemished cheeks is reminiscent of her pure and bright soul. Happiness radiates from her eyes and her smile spreads across her face like a rainbow in the sky.
I wish I could warn her and tell her to enjoy it before it’s too late. I want to shake some sense into her and tell her to appreciate everything. But I can’t.
I cannot slip into the past and correct my mistakes. It’s too late to say what I should have then and it is futile to dwell on this now.
Somehow I can’t prevent myself from sifting through the memories.
I read the diary entries with a sense of surprise. I hardly remember the events I’ve written about. It seems like it happened to another person, I can barely recall any of them.
Have I shut too much out? Did I block the bad out as well as the good?
The girl is a stranger to me, we are wholly different. It scares me to look at her now because I don’t remember when she transformed into the hollow shell that I am.
All I have are the pictures and the poetry and the diary entries.
But they are not enough to resurrect an image in my head.
The change has been so drastic and so complete. I am in shock and I am afraid.
Was it supposed to happen like this?
Questions always fucking questions without any Goddamn answers.
I’m so tired of this depression – this heavy solitude and futile pursuit of happiness. Every time I have minimal contentment I end up disappointed.
There will never be a life for me just an empty existence. I have accepted it and while it does hurt, I have no choice but to carry on.