10:17 PM

  Yesterday I helped somebody cry. Since this diary is for the world to read I can't say what the problem was. Today I acknowledged that I am in love (not the agapé kind). I am in love with a guy. And if anybody has read "Doctor Zhivago", it's that kind of love. Not in passion, but because the whole world dictates it in everything we see. (~somewhat~ quoted from the author)

9:47 PM (by this time I'm guessing it's Saturday in Sweden)

  This is my first diary entry and I am just going to say that I am moving out of the group home I live in and going back to my real home where my parents are. It's cool. YAY! Hooray! Yeah Baby! The thing is, I'm ready to go home. I went to the group home to learn something and I have learned it. I learned something about agapéing. I learned things from Love, Himself, about Him. I learned to love my self. There is more to loving oneself than just stopping oneself from calling oneself stupid or ugly or something. I learned that I can do the things I want to do. When the snow is soft, I jump into a snow bank. When the sun shines brightly, I close my eyes, face it, and take it in. When it is not extremely cold, but not mucky, I lie in the snow and savour the air I breathe like one's first dive of the new summer into a cold pond. When I play my favourite music box, sometimes I grab my teddy bear and take a nap.
  Today, I found the book "Doctor Zhivago" by (whom?). I was just sitting in the library and I looked at a shelf and saw it. I just started it. I'm only three quarters of the way through the introduction by some editor or translator or something. I think I'll go start a scrapbook of all the books I've read. I can scan the covers and write what book it is and schtuff.
  Y'know what? I feel beautiful. I have ever since I went to a little art store in Orangeville, Ontario (Hey, all you Dufferin County peoples!) called The Dragonfly. There are fine crafts such as pottery and art fabrics available in the front room, not to mention leather flowers made into jewelery. It's all local artists. I'v met many of them. Behind the front room is a very large room with four local artists working in it who each rent a corner of the room. Their work is unlike anything that is popular. It's awesome. There is a hallway leading behind that room, and at the end is a room rented by another artist. I had a long talk with her, and it was in her room that I realized that this store makes me feel beautiful. Guess what? I feel uncomfortable feeling comfortable. I'm not used to it. But I want to get used to it.
  Today I wrote a prose/freeform poem. Perhaps I'll post it in Wiki. It was an artist at The Dragonfly who told me that my work was good enough even though she hadn't seen any, and that I should just start writing. So that is why I wrote my prose. And even though it isn't a short fantasy story, and even though I did not have a standard, and even though it was merely a description of my surroundings, it is truly a beautiful poem because I forgot about all the short story writers out there whose style seems to belittle the style of others rather than dig a hole to a spring of life and inspiration and expression. And that, my friends, is both what I need to see and create.