The diaries’ pages were old and stiff. My mother gave me the diary when I was seven, and I then passed it on to my younger sister. If I remember correctly, it’s over 100 years old.
I flipped through the diary, taking in all of the moments. Tears slid down the side of my face. All these memories, all these thoughts. All these happy moments.
But they can never happen again.
Because my sister is dead. Because the cancer won the battle after two long, tiring years.
So what lies ahead of me will never be the same without her.