You know my name not my story.

Diary,

I'm sorry I don't spend a lot of time on you anymore. It's been a while since I wrote down some poems, or memories. Or since I have spilled some tears on your beautiful pages. It's weird to look back on this. You were just a small notebook once. Now you're filled, you're done and I still can't put you away with all the other books on my shelf. Because you aren't just a simple notebook, you have been my life for years. At the beginning I thought you were such a stupid cheap present, but I guess I was wrong. I guess you can't really judge a book by it's cover. You can't tell what goes on in their mind just by looking on the outside. You can't read their story, when you just stay on their surface. I used to look at people and wonder if they were happy or wonder if there was something wrong. But most likely I used to look into the mirror and my facial expressions decieved me quite a lot. I guess I never really have been the girl everyone thought I was, never that happy and optimistic as everyone thought I used to be, but somehow that changed. Somewhere in the middle between a few pages my life turned around. It's weird to think most people thought I had changed from that moment. Well, I actually did. But no one understood how, because no one even knew me, none of the people around me. Looking back on thesemoments I'm happy how that person came into my life and made me open up. I like reading this all over again, and looking back on the girl I once didn't recognise. That's what I mean with that you can't judge a book, especially, you can't judge this one. You're cover is just plain yellow with one word on it and that's my name. But you're the only one that knows my past. Diary, the only one that knows my secret. You're the one that doesn't only know my name. You're the only one that knows my story.

Love always,

Amelia.

Notes