Chapter Two

September 3 - An act of kindness

It's my birthday today. Nineteenth. Tomorrow I begin my 20th year. It seems as though birthdays always hold such promise. Your own personal New Year's Day celebration. Mother gifted me this diary, and I plan on putting it to good use. Memory is such a cruel thing. Things you care to forget never wander far, yet things you crave to hold on to seem to fade and wilt. Maybe by committing to ink my thoughts, I'll be able to hold on to them until I can share them with you. - Ellie

My wife got me this journal. Something about keeping everything cooped up inside. Feelings blah blah blah. So this is me, wasting time, appeasing her. What a crock. As if writing shit down makes a hill of beans. It won't change anything. I'm still right here, and she's still out there. And she's probably still searching for me. Why? Because she's the dreamer, and I'm the asshole. - Alistair

Chapter One

One singular act of kindness. A simple hello. Someone who took a chance. And I find myself where I am. And it's odd that I should be here. But comfortable. Familiar. And it comes easy, the words, when they didn't before. If they seem rambling, it's because my hand can't keep up with my brain. And I so badly want to record every thought, every feeling, because they may be important later. One never knows. And that's the beauty and tragedy of life, isn't it? That we don't know. But to understand where here is and what now means, there needs to be a beginning, right? But there's not. I, of all people, understand more clearly that things are set in motion before the beginning of a story in order to create a situation where a story could even be told. Again, the rambling. Just know that it's all been done before, and it will all happen again as if for the first time. Love is a funny thing, that. After all, it is the Great Muse. It makes us laugh and weep, curious and cautious, angry and joyful. And sometimes all of these at once. But I've found you this go-around. I'm certain I've found you. And you're too far away to know or care. I tread lightly and carefully, because the chance exists that I am wrong. God help me as I start this journey -- from the diary of Ellie Callaghan

She doesn't know I exist. She can't know. And she'll never know, because I'll never tell her. The last one was hard. Too hard. I can't do it again. This stupid game of leap-frogging through time. Linear hide and seek. And I've found her. I'm certain I've found her. Thank God for the distance between us. I can't risk her discovering me. It would destroy us both...... -- from the diary of Alistair Shaw

Far From Normal

It's not your looks that draw me to you.
It's not your charm.
It's not your clever banter.
It's not your quick wit.
It's the spark you get in your eye
when I'm tied. Beaten. Broken.
It's the laughter with the lash.
Happiness when hurt.
Content when bound.
It's the glee from my struggle to accept
who I am.
That I'm far from normal.

Wash

I stand naked
in the shower of earth.
Negativity, ugliness, hatred, anger
wash over me.
It runs through my hair
and into my ears and my eyes.
Tiny rivers.
But they do wash over me.
Shoulders feel heavy.
And they travel down and down.
And all the water of earth eventually
pools at my feet.
And I remember it's up to me
to step away from it.

Unwritten Diaries Kelley #1

Have you ever felt such overwhelming emotion that there is no word to describe it? I think it's love. There is a girl. She's so beautiful. She's amazing. She's funny. She's brilliant. She's perfect. I, in truth, barely know her. And yet I feel like I know everything about her. I feel like I've known her all my life. She is the person I want to come home to. When things go wrong, she is the one I want to launch myself into for comfort. I want her arms around me and her cheek on my head. She is the soul I want to spend my life with. And it's not even about sex. I mean, sex with her would be amazing, I'm sure. But I don't even care if we never kissed. I feel like I need her in my life. But it's even more than need. It's an urgency. It's a requirement. She is essential. I don't know how to tell her. Or if I should. It's a big risk. I don't know if she sees me as anything more than just a friend. So for now, I'll sit on it. I'll look at her and hold all this emotion in my chest.

Unwritten Diaries Amanda #1

I hate my older sister. She’s perfect. Smart. Funny. Pretty. Popular. Everything my parents remind me I‘m not. “Be more like your sister; she has good grades.” “Be more like your sister; look how many friends she has.” “Be more like your sister; a little make up wouldn’t hurt you.”  

And so I sit here. Box cutter as my only confidante. Just a little nick I tell it. And it always listens.

Nick. Nick. Nick. 

 It doesn’t care that I don’t wear eye liner. It doesn’t care that I try so hard to get a C. It doesn’t care that I’ll never be prom queen. I let the little dribbles of red run to the tip of my toenail. Red is my favorite color. No one will know once I put on my socks and shoes. So it’s really no big deal. Red give me strength to get through tomorrow.

Unwritten Diaries Sophette #1

Sophette I saw it again today. It was right after third period. Everyone was trudging down the hall to make their next class. There was May. Loud. Brash. The kind of girl who pats herself on the back for making others feel small. Most of the students here think she’s hysterical. I can’t be the only one who thinks she’s out of control. So we were all just trying to make it to class. But minding your own business when May is around is impossible. She was standing in the middle of the hallway hollering at some poor freshman. “I’m doing you a favor. You’re gonna need to toughen up a little bit Gidget. I’m your mentor.” And with that, she grabbed the girl by the arm and pushed her into the closest open locker. “Now you stay there until the tears stop and you can be a big girl. Then I’ll let you out.” WHAM. The locker slammed closed. Everyone heard the terrified whimpering of this 80 pound freshman. No one did anything. May left and went to class. I stood. The hallway emptied. I opened the locker. It was heartbreaking seeing her tear stained face. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Snot running over her lips. Blonde greasy hair falling over her face. She was an easy target. I asked her if she was okay. She nodded and ran to class. I got a tardy. If no one does anything about May, she’ll never stop.

Unwritten Diaries - JT #1

J.T. I don’t shout it from the rooftops. I don’t let anyone see. It’s because I don’t want anyone to know. I keep you for myself. I’ve been close to you. Close enough to smell you. It makes my head spin. All these insane celebrity stalkers that send crazy emails or park outside someone’s home. That’s not me. That will never be me. I’m smarter than that. I keep you for myself. Feel free to come into my home. You’ll find the usual. Couch. Television. Dining room ensemble. There are no banners on the walls, no shrine of your pictures. My computer won’t yield endless Google searches for you. Everything is as it should be. You’re out of my league. Beyond my reach. Untouchable. And for all my smarts, all these useless fucking brains, I still want to be near you. I know it makes no sense. I know it’s irrational. That doesn’t stop the want. I want to bury my hands in your hair and press my lips to your forehead. I want to breathe in until my lungs burst. Breathe so deep it makes me dizzy. I want to run my hands over your shoulders and down your arms. I want to lift your hands to my mouth and kiss each fingertip. I want to wrap my hands around your ribcage and pin you to the wall with my body. I want to feel you press back with desire. I want to taste the salt from your neck. I want to feel the rush of your breath on my shoulder. I want to hear the moment your heart derails your brain. I want to see your eyes when you finally confess how long you’ve loved me. I want you to see me. Not the me everyone sees. The plain, drab shell. The awkward shuffle. The me I’ve buried. The me I only want to share with you. All this tension, and madness. I’m left with aching dreams and a hollow heart. Everyone looks right at me and never sees. Buried treasure in plain sight. Maybe today we’ll brush fingers as I hand you your coffee on set. I’ll stare at your shoes, feigning shyness. I’ll never raise my eyes until you ask. I’m afraid they would betray my soul. Can’t have that. It’s because I don’t want anyone to know. I keep you for myself.

Eleventh Hour Deal

For ten years
I've tried to solve nine problems
but can only come up with eight answers.
I've tried seven ways from Sunday
to solve six degrees of separation.
But it doesn't matter if you're five miles
or four steps away,
sometimes three words can't be said
because two
minus one is really
zero.