The diaries weren’t meant to be read, at least not by the living. Their pages turned when the wind wasn’t blowing, fluttering slightly as if a forgotten hand was flipping them. The ink faded, but the words remained, etched into the fibers of paper in a language no one understood. The entries were jumbled, their timelines lost in the shuffle of forgotten events. But still, the pages turned, as if they were waiting for someone to remember the stories they contained.
In the end, the stories we fail to tell become the ones that define us, echoing in the spaces we leave behind.
Ink That Wasn’t Really Ink
The ink was never truly ink — it was something that existed between realms. It couldn’t be touched, couldn’t be erased. The words it formed didn’t stay the same. Every time you tried to read them, they morphed into something new. The stories felt familiar, like déjà vu, but you couldn’t ever quite place them. No matter how many times you turned the pages, they always read differently. The diaries contained the past, present, and future all at once, yet none of it made sense.
Stories That Never Had Beginnings
The words told of people and places, of things that might have happened, or maybe never did. They spoke of dreams that were never realized, and plans that were never executed. There were no clear beginnings, no definite endings. The stories ebbed and flowed, like a river that never knew where it was going. Each paragraph felt like a door closing before you could walk through it. And yet, the diaries continued to hold you in their grip, inviting you to find answers in the chaos.
The Ink Dried Up, But Not The Stories
Eventually, the ink stopped flowing. The diaries remained open, their empty pages staring back at you with the promise of something that couldn’t be captured. The words were gone, but the stories lingered like smoke in the air, refusing to disappear. Even without ink, the diaries held their power — memories embedded in their silence. They were no longer just books; they were portals to forgotten times, asking questions no one had the answers to. And perhaps that was their greatest mystery.
