How We End

Dear Diary,

It's the 3rd of February 2018, the luckiest page I get to touch after the longest time. Feels like I haven't written in ages. So rapid the mystical feather was found rubbing shoulders with your unique, bold, silhouettes, brown cover. Curling almost invisible in the middle of your golden words 'Her diary'. God, what am I saying, It's been only 48 hours you haven't grasp my inner voice ever since I took some time off. Probably it's just a cheap fur, coughned by my sister's sweater bought at the fake Gucci store. She likes over spending on useless staff that one.

Hell no scratch that. I didn't mean to say them. Please don't get me wrong, I'm not scolding my sister or anything. Although it looks like I can't bottle things up anymore. Not today and especially not with you too.

The truth is I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all that's why I couldn't write to you my diary. If I say I was overworking at the Hotel at these couple of days, way exhausted to lift a pen and write to you, I'd be lying. Perhaps I say, I got too distracted with my house chores and applying for an internship hasn't been easy so I was stressed? I'll be definitely lying.

I'm so not okay and not lifting a pen to write to you was the only way to distinguish what eating me. Infact I'm stll very pissed, I'm not even pissed I'm livid. The tolerance to bare a smile at my sister's fiance has finally reached my wits end. Yes, you heard me, my sister's fiance 'Silver',

Everytime, everytime I look at that limp my intenstines curls and shrinks away making me lose my appetite for the rest of my day. The audicity he had today to sideline my grocery list. Just because! he thinks my food was not healthy at all. Apparently it had no calories, no low cholesterol and certainly no proteins. And so the almighty Silver preached to me that I'm the unhealthiest being that he has ever lived with. Talking about the grocery list that was harshly worth $200. I bought! with my hardworking money of sweats, blood and tears.

Waitressing good for nothing wealthy people, who can't even give me a decent tip but busy laughing about their rich lives. Over a lousy cup of tear and their upgraded oysters nourished with expensive Olive oil.

Where would I be than? Standing on a sidewalk, waiting for them to finally order. Hungry like a deserted animal to serve 'The most fortunate'.

The food that He– does not contribute in. Except willingly okay to flash! his credit card to my older sister. Like his some dumb first time player that thinks he has to throw a bone for her and say “Catch!” like a dog. In order to sustain their love affair.

It's all clear to me that he doesn't even know the word 'investment'. As if he doesn't think his parents ever worked hard for what he has. Geez, shitty spoilt, wealthy kids who's only leeching off the easy inheritance.

The fact that we all chained to call him 'Silver' as his last name. It ties the knots in my stomach and actually wants me to gag right at his black HUGO BOSS formal shoe. And now we suffering because hey! Mr. owns a potion to one of the biggest Retailing and Services company worldwide.

Speaking about a dumb, airheaded, 24 year old who was possibly busy galavanting with the youth like other teenagers. Experimenting pots and weed. One day he happened to recieve the inheritance that fell at his lap and now he thinks it his intellectual two useless cents that placed him up there.