from under a Russian novel

Dearest Diary(-ies),

I found you in an old box in the garage this weekend. I found you and your friends--the pink one with swirlies and the purple flowered one too. You were all gifts I had received for Christmases and birthdays, and I specifically remember putting you away, saying I'd use you later.
I never did.
As soon as I found all three of you, I thought of L's post on diaries, and I felt a little ashamed that I had not bothered to even open you.

Imagine that--we could have been good friends! I would have told you all my stories and you would have preserved them. I could have told you all my likes and dislikes and you never would have judged. I could have repeated things, again and again, and you never would have tired of me. Oh, what a great bond we could have had!

Except, our friendship would have been kept hushed. It would have been a secret, a deep, dark one that even if someone would have found out, they would not have been able to trace back its source. It would have been a strong relationship, similar to that of a soldier abroad and his spouse back at home; I would have been the soldier fighting out there every day through life, and you would have always been there waiting for me, calm and collectively.

But it would have had to end sooner or later: a break, time apart, a split. Did you realize this? We would have gone our separate ways eventually, right? I mean, I've never been one too committed to anything, and you, you would have asked for a separation too, right? Well, if not, then our security would have breached and your purpose would have been lost, I think.

I suppose it would have been nice. You would have been a recollection of wonderful years of my life, and I could have done you the favor of visiting every once in a while. I could have checked up on you, like an old friend, and see if you were doing alright. At our reunion we could have talked about our experiences and you could have brought out the saved, almost sacred texts I had written oh so long ago.

Still, I do insist that it never would have worked out. It's not you, it's me. In a way, I suppose this blog is like a newer, modern version of what you, dear diary, could have been. Except this time, it's infinite, chrome. This old fruit guy will be accessible to me as long as this site exists. And not only will it be recording my thoughts, but those of a person who is very close to my heart too. Thank you. I hope you diaries understand this blog was never intended to replace you (your existence was never much to begin with), but it is now carrying out the purpose you all never fulfilled. I hope you take this as a sincere apology and I do hope you find a nice, loving relationship with someone else.

Best of wishes,
A.