Dear Diary,

I feel perhaps I write too often of Donovan and not nearly often enough of others around me. Such that you may get the view that what i feel for Donovan is something other than the Genuine Love it Really is. Such that you may think I am carried away in fantasy, or in wanting Love so badly that I create fantasy of it in order to satisfy my desire for it. I wish to be absolutely clear that what I feel for Donovan is the Truest and Realest and Most Sincere Thing I trust one could Ever get.


I could yield my time away writing of the connection that is missing for me with others, I could tell you of every man that I have known who has been short of what is there with Donny, in hopes that you may better understand, but what would the use of it be? Either you believe me now, or else you most probably Never will. I do not feel it is my role to defend myself to you; I have said before that I am bare before you, and I do not feel inclined at all to Explain myself to you beyond that.

I think sometimes, Diary, that maybe Even You will someday betray me, and I feel sometimes, Diary, like my Own heart is the Only Safety which I can ever hope to harbor for Eternity. I wish more than Ever for you to Stay with me Through it All, and I pray to God you can, but with at last having Donovan gone and taken from me, I feel I am beginning to doubt Even the things of which I have been Surest and Would Never Before deny.

-What am I becoming, Diary? I do not Even know Myself anymore; I do not have the Faith God thinks I have. I do not have the Strength. I need Something to be Sure of. Something that will Never Fade Away. I need Truth, Diary!, I need Love!, I need Hope and Healing and Tenderness to come in and take over All this hurt and heartache and harm; I need God to Hold my Heart Within His Hands.

I am not sure of you, Diary, I am not sure of Don. I am not even sure if I am sure of God anymore.

And I am not sure of how to end this eloquently either.