June 20, 2015.
Dear diary,
Today I did something horrible. I made a mistake. I wasn't thinking and I had no idea. I swear, I had no idea. I didn't think he was one to do such a thing but then again I didn't even know his name.
I wore shorts and a tank top to the park, my hair in a high pony tail, the heat almost unbearable.
I couldn't stand seeing him wrapped in those clothes, it made me sick. "What's wrong with you?" I asked, feeling the sweat drip down my neck, making me cringe.
"Your going to get sick--" I said as I reached for the sleeves of his sweatshirt, tugging them back and revealing the sensitive skin of his wrists.
I covered my mouth with my hands, gaping at the harm he had done to himself. The strokes and markings of a razor perhaps.
They garnished his skin, my chest tightening as I took in the aggressive slashes aligning his once vulnerable wrist.
Before I could reach out and touch him he yanked his arm back, his eyes wide with hysteria and stormy with shame.
He was gone so quick I hadnt believed any of it had even happend.
I sat alone, hating the feeling so soon. Finally it was 8:47.
I left.
But not before picking up his abandoned book.
