My Diary (Anne) - New 1 **

At eleven I began to write In a little book given to me. My memories, dreams, and hidden thoughts Filled the pages of my diary. I penciled in my hopes and fears, The heartaches only I could know. It felt so good to place on paper The tears I couldn’t let them show. My diary kept my memories, It never judged, it never spoke. It simply held my joys and sorrows Within each line that I had wrote. My diary kept my memories, It never answered back. It simply held my feelings there In photographs of white and black. Those faded pages, black and white, Still hold the stories of my past. They kept the pieces of my heart Too precious for the world to ask. The years flew by, I grew much older, My deepest secrets filled each page. Those faithful books became my witness Through every season, every age. In my twenties I kept writing, Every dream and every tear. Afraid someday those honest words Would bring forgotten sorrows near. My diary kept my memories It never answered back It simply held my feelings there In photographs of white and black. My thirties came before I knew it, Still I filled those waiting lines. Letters written, never mailed, Silent battles trapped in time. What poured onto those empty pages Was the truest part of me. The woman no one else could know, The one I longed to set free. My diary kept my memories, It never judged, it never spoke. It simply held my joys and sorrows Within each line that I had wrote. My diary kept my memories It never answered back. It simply held my feelings there In photographs of white and black. Those faded pages, black and white, Still hold the stories of my past. They kept the pieces of my heart Too precious for the world to ask. So many diaries I’ve gathered, One day I read them all once more. And found that memory bends with time, While written words restore. The poems, laughter, grief, and love, The winding road my life has known. Each page became a piece of me, A seed that someday may be sown. Now in my sixties I go searching For long-forgotten memories. The words once whispered to those pages Still live inside my cherished diaries. My diary kept my memories, It never judged, it never spoke. It simply held my life with kindness In every promise that I wrote. My diary kept my memories, It never answered back. It simply held my feelings there In photographs of white and black. Those faded pages, black and white, Will tell my story when I’m gone. For every chapter that I lived Will keep on singing… long after I’m gone.