You know I'm still an old school who unapologetically prefers long form of writing with velvety rich words. Okay! I guess the answer is that is too much to ask in a world full of time consuming texts. Dear Diary, One thing I realized that I never thanked you enough. Yet you're the only possible living/nonliving thing I clung into more often. You're like an aspirin to my feverish and exhausted mind that certainly brings comfort to my tired bones. So should I write you a poem? No, a perfect sonnet maybe? Or just a long, wholesome letter where I twist alphabets to make them a bit more presentable. A bit more acceptable. You know I'm still an old school who unapologetically prefers long form of writing with velvety rich words. Okay! I guess the answer is that is too much to ask in a world full of time consuming texts. Oh ! My bad. I don't need to use perfect words at perfect places just to impress you like I did to everyone around me, all my life. What new or creatively creative similes should I use for you to pass my gratitude! You let me hold you whenever I felt angry, devastated, sad or nothing at all. You embraced my numbness each time by becoming my muffled voice. Your pages soaked my dry and salty tears like it's their own to bring me some nonexistent happiness. Your ink covered being gave my calloused, rough fingers a reason to move. So what are you to me? A white knight? An anchor may be? Or a home that keeps me warm in heavey snow fall. Such a keeper you are !! You held my deepest secrets so sternly on those fragile pages of yours like a mother protecting the fetus inside of her womb. In a world full of imposing your views(unsolicited advice) to everyone and everywhere even when it's not required, you listened. You listened to my throttling silence by bleeding some broken and beautiful poetries.
