PART I - HELEN

I'm so tired of love songs, tired of love songs / Tired of love songs, tired of love.

I had changed my alarm clock again.

Billie hadn't really given me the best vibes to start my day.

My new playlist was filled with Lizzo, Dua Lipa, the Jonas Brothers, some more Harry Styles (half of Fine Line found its way into the playlist), and Giant Rooks (who I had found through Florence Pugh earlier this year but forgot about). Also inspired by Florence Pugh, I added dancing to my morning routine. And yoga.

I felt as happy and alive as I let people believe in the past months.

I do my hair toss, check my nails / Baby, how you feelin'? (Feelin' good as hell).

Dad brought me to school and kissed my temple before I went out of the car.

"See you at Grandma's tonight?"

"Yes."

"Love you, Lenny."

"Love you, too."

My days went back to normal. No more brooding, no more going out of my way to avoid Jamie. I restarted pep-talking myself and writing my diary. The last entry read:

Things that went not as I expected:

- Breaking up with my high school sweetheart

Things that are still here:

- My family

- My friends

- My aspirations

- My commitments to the school as student body president and main role in the school play

This that I need to remember:

- It is not my fault.

- It will get better.

I restarted writing poems. I cringed when I went through my old notebook, but I remembered which joy it had brought me. I put down simple words that came to mind. Maybe later, they would become a string of words, a verse, a stanza. When I was younger, my mom used to read to me. All the time. Back then, I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be someone to create worlds, to show love and loss and compassion. I wanted to make people feel the way books let me feel. By the age of 13, I had written three novellas. Yet, I was never content with whatever I created.

That's when I started on poems, reading them, digesting them, analyzing them, writing them. It was harder to write a poem than running text, it took more time than tapping a few pages, but it was more rewarding. It was easier to reach sophistication. You could go back and rewrite, rewrite, rewrite one verse until it was perfect.

Over the past week, I took my notebook everywhere I went, took notes, put down words, and inspirations. Spinning the words together made me happy. I was not part of this world anymore, rather an observer. Not completely cut-off but far away to see everything in perspective.

That's another reason why I chose to keep a diary. It put everything into perspective. And looking back on things I wrote two weeks ago, a month ago, a year ago, showed me that whatever I am feeling now, it won't hurt as much in two weeks, a month, a year.