Dear Diary …. by Kellianne Sweeney

Dear Diary,

It was damp. It must have rained earlier, but she hadn’t noticed. Droplets stood poised on the blades of grass. The shadows were stark between the erect figures reaching to the distant dark sky. There was no moon; or if there was, it was shrouded by unseen clouds. The tiny stalks looked sharp and harsh in the dim light that was fitfully emerging from the battered streetlamp. She surveyed the uninviting carpet that was to be her bed. How odd to be here. In this place. To be contemplating the wet grass as a place to rest. She was bone tired. Perhaps she might not feel the wet soak into her clothes as she tried to sleep. Perhaps she was too exhausted and numb to feel anything at all. Perhaps she could hide in the back of her mind and create a cocoon of happy circumstances to sleep within. Maybe then she would not feel the wet, the hardness, the dirt underneath, and most importantly,  the despair beyond. She moved, slowly and listlessly out of the sullen glare of the streetlamp. It was best not to be seen. She found herself grateful for the unusual quiet of this night. She tried to be part of it; to step so softly to stir no sound herself. She breathed the silence and imagined herself as an island surrounded by the protective sea. She just had to get through this night and vowed to never be here again. She toyed with the idea of just trying to stay awake through this night; not sleeping at all; to wait for the morning to come with open bleary eyes. But her body rebelled. The grass began to look comforting and inviting. It beckoned, promising a few moments of peace from colliding thoughts and emotions. The used droplets of rain offered to cleanse and refresh. She lay her weary body on the earth from whence it came and from whence it would eventually go. She settled in and vaguely felt the dampness begin to seep. But her mind was wandering into a warm place; a place of laughter and smiles, of embraces and dancing firelight. A place that she would go and belong to. A place that she would fight and strive to create for herself. Tomorrow. But for now she would sleep. Here, in the wet grass. Just for a little while. And when she would wake again, she determined that she would remember this feeling, this place, and never experience it again. Tomorrow was a new day. And tomorrow would be a new future. No matter what.