Dear Diary, The summer night hums soft outside. Stars winking like old secrets, and my glass sweats ice-cold against my palm. Just us, Diary—no rush, no shadows. A sip of something tart and fizzy slides down, cooling the heat that's lingered too long. Tonight, I count the quiet wins, the threads holding me steady. This job—it's no dream, grinding days that pay just enough to breathe—but it's mine, a roof and a rhythm, no more begging for scraps. I’m very nervous since I’m sta

Dear Diary, The sun beats down like a lazy lover this afternoon. The heat is sticking to my skin like a secret I don't mind sharing. Just us, Diary—no judgments, no echoes from the edges. A bag of Doritos crinkles open on my lap, the first in nearly ten years. I can’t remember why I had to discard them. Ah yes, I think because they were a bit expensive. Everything is expensive here where I live. But today I could get my hands on a Doritos bag. I tasted one and... Oh God, fuck

Dear Diary, It is just us, Diary, in this quiet afternoon—no voices, no stares. It is important to talk a little bit about a horrible experience: having your wings cut off. I remember the confusion first. That fog where his demands blurred into "just work”. Being forced to roleplay his fantasies. Well… “fantasies” would be an euphemism for boring shit. I had to do all the work mostly because… well, I am the one who put the words and flavour. I put sensations… but there was on

Dear Diary, This is the first time I write you, but I truly hope it’s not the last. It's just us tonight—no eyes, no whispers from the outside. I've been carrying this weight for so long, the kind that clips wings before they even spread. However, I managed to set myself free. Free from lies. Free from toxic shit. Free from manipulation. Free from the fear of being seen and used like an object of desire. I no longer draw blood from my pen —unless is for creativity’s sake. I'v