Dear Diary

By WindWolf

Dear Diary,

I haven’t written in a diary in ages, but I need to now. I don’t think I can tell anyone what I just did, but I desperately need to get it out of my system.

I’m still not sure what exactly made me do it; what made me snap. I guess I just got fed up. Fed up of wondering, of questions, of mixed signals. I’m new to this whole thing, though I’ve been playing the game for what seems like forever.

He’s different than the other guys, I’m not sure why, but he is. Whatever separates him from all the rest is driving me insane. At first, the game was fun, just a little flirting; we left the question for others to answer. I got tired of it soon. I wanted to know. Wanted to know how he felt, whether it was real, or I was just imagining it.

I asked him today, and it was the biggest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. My heart is still pounding out of my chest, and I think I’m going to have butterflies in my stomach for a week. The others are calling me from downstairs about supper, but I’m not hungry at all. I should be, I haven’t really eaten since breakfast, but I’m not. The butterflies ate my hunger.

It took me a week to prepare, but that didn’t do any good. When I actually got the courage to bring it up, I fumbled, and lost whatever fragments of a speech I had prepared. I got it out though, somehow, and twisted my hands as I paced around, waiting for an answer.

I don’t think he knew what I was talking about when I first brought it up. He knew by the time I finally spat it out though, and I could tell it wasn’t what he was expecting when I told him I had to ask him something.

I asked him for an answer, and I didn’t get one. He paused and said, “Do we have to talk about this now?”

Hard as I tried to push the subject, he wouldn’t tell me how he felt. This is a bad sign. If he felt the same, he’d have told me, right? He’d have said, “Of course, you didn’t know that already?” I would have laughed in embarrassment and everything would be fine.

Everything is not fine. I realize I’ve taken up three pages in this tiny little journal already, but everything is not fine. He doesn’t care about me, not how I want him to. He probably doesn’t even want anything to do with me now that I’ve scared him off. He didn’t want to talk about it; did he think I wanted to? Did he honestly think I wanted to bring it up? No! I shouldn’t have had to. I should have been able to tell, to know. That’s the way things are supposed to go, isn’t it? Happily ever after? Well let me tell you something, there’s no such thing.

Fairy tales. Knights in shining armor sweeping you off your feet and carrying you off to their beautiful castle. It doesn’t happen. Nothing good ever happens like that, if it happens at all. It hasn’t happened, and I want it to!

Have I just been imagining things all this time? Was it all just a figment of my imagination, based around all the romantic movies I’ve ever seen? I thought so at first, but then…

Ach, nevermind. You’d think that after working myself up to asking him I’d have some sort of answer, a conclusion, an ending, happy or not. But I have nothing, absolutely nothing.

He said he’d give me an answer later, that he had to think it out. That’s not right, that’s not how it should happen, but maybe things do happen that way. Maybe the stories are all wrong. Maybe he just doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

I was so sure. So sure the answer would be yes. I’m not now. He promised me an answer tomorrow morning, but I know I won’t get it. He’s not like that, I know it. He’s not good at things like this, can’t voice the things that are serious. I’m not going to get anything resembling an answer for a month, if ever. I’ll still get the butterflies though, and just thinking of maybe getting an answer will keep me awake at night.

They’re calling me from downstairs again, but I’m not sure I can stop writing. I have to though, or else they’ll come upstairs and find me crying on the pages, making the ink bleed. I doubt I’ll even be able to read this later. That’s okay I guess, I don’t really need to be reminded of it anymore, even though I’ll probably play the scene over and over again for the next five years.

Why is life so complicated? Why did I have to complicate things between us? I should just go become a hermit for week, then when I come back, everything will be all better. Yeah, but where can hermits go these days? All the good spots are taken.

Do they think I don’t hear them? I told them I’m coming, though I did that five minutes ago too. I guess I should go.


This was a quickie for personal reasons. Can ya tell that Tifa's the easiest character for me to relate to? A couple weeks ago, this could've been one of my diary entries. Yeah, like you care. I just needed to get it out of my system, and into the computer system I guess. Feedback is welcome.

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