Even so, I still feel quite melancholy. There’s nothing uplifting, encouraging, or positive that I have to say.
What is there in my life but sadness, loss, and gloom? Well, there’s you.
Too bad you aren’t alive. If you were, then perhaps I would be writing of happy things and thinking happy thoughts. Maybe I’d be a happy person, and my father would be too. But that’s not how life is. I’m a very sad fellow.

Funnily enough, I decided to write to you, in an effort to cheer up even a tiny bit. I am not sure of how that is working out so far. Still, if I am going to further disgrace my masculinity as to keep a diary, then a better have a solid reason for it. And the reason is that I want to be able to talk to you. If I have anything to say, then I will confide it in you, because you are the only one who will ever listen.

You were the only one who ever cared. I may be foolish, and I may be speaking to no one right now, but at least I can pretend that I am heard.