Dear Diary, you are the keeper of words I cannot read,
Text I must not know.
I know, and
I will not open you, nor seek your secrets,
I will not care, what was said or written.
I know you exist, in a drawer somewhere
I know you like the poem I will never decipher
Like a pronoun never named.
Your secrets I shall acknowledge
Gently, like someone I have given up forever.
What goes? I guess I shallnt care.
What lives? I will never know.
Sometimes its like I, I have already asked you the question.
And you have heard it.
And if you do not, or do not wish to answer, I guess
I will put down the diary
Turn away, move on
And care a little less, ever more.