Dear Diary,
I had not thought to confess this to anyone by any means, but as I have no other recourse while I await the end, I find myself taking pen in hand.
Dear Diary,
I had not thought to confess this to anyone by any means, but as I have no other recourse while I await the end, I find myself taking pen in hand.
On very rare occasions, one may experience something that has a profound impact. These events, snapshots of a moment, stay with you forever and you return to them and ponder them over and over again. The famous photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt entitled,
I won’t give anything away, but I will say that more of Sophia’s diary entries are forth coming.
I apologize for the verbosity. I couldn’t think of any other way to express myself, and I still feel that I haven’t. On the surface, it’s just a narrative. It’s cleverly written, so as to fill in a great deal without saying it directly. It’s so much more than that, though. I’d be okay with not knowing the rest of the story; like I said, I could meditate on it forever. Of course if there is more to be had, I want it.
Another analogy: A painting of a road that stretches away from the viewer and into a copse of trees (or around a corner, or over a hill). Where does this road lead? Who made this road? Is the viewer going to something or leaving something?
Bottom line: Thank you.