Chapter 3.4: Dear Diary, Why Me?
Days turned into weeks. I poured myself into work, the gym, books, and long drives with my favorite playlists echoing through the speakers. Every now and then I'd catch myself wondering if he thought about me too, but the questions no longer kept me awake. At least, that's what I told myself. The truth was, I still had questions. A lot of them. And eventually, I got tired of asking everyone else. So I started asking myself. I opened my diary. At first, I thought I was just going to vent. You know... The usual: Why is this man so damn confusing? Why did I even care this much? Why did he have to be so cute? Why couldn't he just tell me the truth? But something strange happened when I started writing. My diary wouldn't let me lie. I couldn't write the story from the version of myself who wanted to be right. I had to write it from the version of myself who had actually lived it. And that meant being honest. Really honest. I had to admit that I wasn't simply angry ...
