The pages of the diary are very dear to me, they understand my good and bad, anger and resentment, they love and care for me without any complainants . Sometimes when sad, every stroke of my pen is freely tolerated, and even when very happy, it can share the affections. They are our closest friends, to whom I don't have to cover my face, I don't have to act. They live on all of me, GHA and I live on the sweet scent of their leaves.

At every turn of the road, how many 'living' friends become 'inert' and disappear, and how many such 'inert' friends become 'alive' within moments.

Memoires

© ___.secret_diary___