The book was within arms reach, I grabbed it and fastened it on my lap. I picked up the pen that lay wasted on the corner of the desk and I started it again like every other day.
"Dear Diary" I wrote in blue pen,
stretching the words across the page.
I wrote if it was okay
to have self-doubt,
And it told me absolutely.
I told if it was normal to be worried about life,
It ruffled my hair and said yes.
I sought its opinion on whether I
was a burden to others,
It handed me a cup of tea
and reassured me that I wasn't.
I inquired if it was common to
find it difficult to connect with others,
It wrapped me in its arms and comforted me by saying
that it was fine.
I questioned if it thought
if I was ever good enough,
It lowered the thermostat and propped a blanket over me.
It didn't say a single word, because
I already knew the answer.
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