Dear diary

Dear diary,

My day is no different than any other, with the only difference being what my imagination creates, taking me away from the sadness that is my reality. I often see no significance in even keeping a journal, for my pages can be filled in at any time for it shall be the same sad story day after day. The pattern that my day follows has never been broken. It is like a spinning wheel; it continues to spin the same way day after day; it goes through the same openings and gaps, and spins the same design.

Today I woke up as the sunlight slowly crept through the gap in the curtains up to my eyes, the rays of the sun reminded me of my mothers gentle hand stroking my head to wake me up in the morning. The warmth of the sun in the morning is my only real comfort, for all else is cold and sombre.

Eye on Science

My eye

English: Photochrom print of an elderly Irish woma...

Melancholy had overpowered my life, twisting my sobriety, sometimes I feel like my life is wearing a straight-jacked and walls are padded so that I cannot do myself any harm.

My world is only as big as this room and what little life can be seen through the

mirror. Everything in my life is trapped inside these four grey walls. All my life consists of is this tower, my weaving and my dreams which is my only glimpse into reality. But the dreaming is frequently turned into self-pity, and the self-pity into sorrow.

As I looked into the mirror, I saw what was sure to be a newlywed couple, strolling across the green meadow hand in hand, gazing into each other's eyes. I felt a pang in my heart. Knowing that I would never be able to experience...