Dear Diary,


I am writing to you because there is no one left to write
to. A silence among my guiding lights had led me to that
conclusion, there is no one left. No more. A sneaking
whisper of the wind, as it attempts to comfort the forgotten
soul, passes me by every now and then, reminding me that
there is a world out there, and it will stroke my throbbing
heart with the compassion that has been forgotten from the
hearts of those who don't remember any more, who forgot the
virtue that god created to be used, but is now buried too
deep to be recovered, meant to be left to rot, in mother
natures arms. And all that my soul had been seeking, is
buried under the ashes of the hope that guided me, the hope
that burned in the flames of wrongful justice, who couldn't
fight no more, as it was left without a cause to battle, it
sunk, preferred to die over a just cause than to give up on
itself. I understand it. I can't argue against its reasons,
I am left without the right to speak, because the silence
had taken over.