Dear diary,
When I die do you think I will be remembered?
I've been writing in this diary for about a year now, and I was wondering when I die do you think I'll be the next Anne Frank?
My thoughts and actions and feelings all being read by people of different backgrounds, who speak different languages and who have their own problems.
You've been with me through it all, the good and the bad, you was always there.
When my world was blacker than the night sky.
When my life felt as if I had weights around my ankles as I was drowning going nowhere but down.
While I'm tossing and turning in my grave I hope a little boy or girl says that they want to be the next me.
I hope my words help them through tough times and I pray for my words to hold them every night.
Dear dairy,
When I die I hope my words won't blow away in the wind.
