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Dear diary... | by harold.lloyd
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Dear diary...

Embiggen

 

Dear diary,

 

It has been more than a month since he looked at me now. Thirty-two days, eleven hours, and fifty-three minutes since I received even the slightest bit of attention. I have stumbled on blindly since, trying to find meaning in a life bereft of his asinus love - no, was it ever love? Maybe I just imagined there was something there, some appreciation or encouragement that I mistook for affection. Maybe I just became too caught up in the adulation, the fun, the midnight assignations, the back-and-forth, the up-and-down, the in-and-out, the times he almost loved me and did not. All those times he dropped me, only to bring me back into the herd a few days later. I should have known. He was only interested in the photos. Not me. And when something better came along? He threw himself at it, braying with glee at the droplets, the babies in baskets, the hanstands, the empty boxes, the out-of-focus or poorly-lit, the revealing sp, the single flowers with bubbling bokeh, the mandatory HDR of something or other that now looks unnatural.

 

So I'm done, donkeh. I shall not check for your love anymore. You take your explorabilities and front page tempationals elsewhere. Yes, I know you have already. Look, this is my moment, stop interrupting. No, I have no carrots. Shoo. Go nuzzle someone else with your cute little fuzzy nose. Look, over there! A bikini! Yeah, I knew it. Just watch you amble off with your tail flicking in anticipation. I have found other things to keep my happy. Rly I have. Others who appreciate me. The odd instfav here and there. It's enough. It is. Really. Honest. *whimper*

 

So diary, this is it. It's just me and you now. You're stuck with me. What? No! No, you can't leave too! Don't go! How will I be able to carry on wri

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Taken on October 8, 2008