dear diary, // minsung

ten,

1/5/21

Dear diary,

As I've mentioned millions of times to you, I love to read. I want to write as well, and of course, I have a plethora of ideas in my notes app waiting to be written. Any story is a story I'm probably going to enjoy.

Which leads me into my next plot line of today: poetry.

I want to start reading poetry, but honestly, I have no clue where to start. What type of poetry would I like? What if it's something I'm not even into? Would I ever write poetry of my own one day? All these questions remain unanswered, but they'll have answers one day.

Every time I go to the library, I scan over the poetry section, and run my finger over the spine of the books. Do I know why? No. Maybe it's simply habit from doing that over any type of book I come across.

Something always pulls me towards the poetry section, but I couldn't tell you what exactly. Maybe I just have a long term goal to read anything and everything I come across.

But deep down, I'm scared I won't like it very much. I don't have any idea why I might dislike it. It's just something different from your average chapter book. A storyline finished within seconds or minutes compared to a few hours of flipping pages. Do I really want the magic to end that fast?

I would love to ask someone who reads poetry what I should read. I'd like a starting point I think. Something that could ease me into poetry? Is there even such a thing with the major differences?

Minho closed the journal and huffed in annoyance. He really felt like he was getting nowhere with this diary hunt, and the irritation of it all was finally catching up to him.

He slumped in his chair and crossed his arms. Minho stared at the ceiling in thought. Am I in over my head with this? What if I'm never able to find out? Should I just not return it?

No, don't be silly. You would've read their diary for nothing.

You have to give it back! It's the right thing to do!

What if they're right in front of my face and I don't know it?

Minho's questions were running through his head as fast as a train zooming down the tracks. He shook his head as his thoughts started to jumble up together.

I can't give up now.

Minho sat to himself for a few minutes wondering what he should do. He swiveled his chair from left to right as his mind went from one point to another. He longed to know what they looked like, or how their voice sounded. Minho yearned to see their expression form into one of joy when the diary was returned to them.

It's just the nature of Minho: he likes to be very giving.

An idea struck in Minho's head, and his grin grew wider by the second. He swiftly moved over to his closet to grab a light sweater and seized his wallet off the dresser. He ran downstairs at the speed of light and dashed out the front door.

Soon enough, he found himself at his nearest bookstore, a place he never thought he'd step foot into. Minho peered at his surroundings like a lost child. To be quite frank, Minho wasn't sure where anything was. He stumbled around a few minutes before coming across a desk with a slight older woman behind it, tapping away at her keyboard. Minho shuffled over and leaned his elbows on the table.