Rusty leaves from the trees were falling down, as the soft warm wind blew all around us. It was clear that autumn was on its way. As I walked in the park, a rather crowded one. Everywhere I looked there was so much of action. I began to feel alive.
The sun was now setting into the horizon. The dark silhoutte of the the clouds were filling the purple skies. Birds flew back to their nests and gradually, the park began to empty. The jogging track was now emptying as the walkers and joggers were now heading back home with sweat beads trickling down their heads. The little boys and girls who were playing on the swings, messing with the sand, rolling on the grass and running all over the field with a football on their feet, were now leaving the park. The swings were empty, the sand was still muddled up and the grass felt dry and itchy.
The park was now empty and deserted, But, I still stood there. The sky was now in the darkest shade of dark blue, the moon was now shining with pride and beauty, little stars looked like diamond studs dotted all over the sky. It was unbelievable how glamorous the sky looked tonight.
I then spot a bench at the end of the park, right under the maple tree. I walked towards it, with the soft breeze caressing my pink cheeks. I reached the bench and sat on it. And, smiled to myself. Clutching my cloth jhola*, I take out my green diary, which I had been writing since I turned 13. I open it to the page I wrote on last, which I had marked with my bookmark, I had stopped using it after I came to 10th standard, I never had time to read anything. But, I still wrote in my diary.
Taking the pen in my hand, I began to scribble in my diary. The diary which had my well kept secrets, my feelings, my thoughts and my life captured in its pale pages. That late evening on the onset of autumn, I sat on the bench and wrote in my diary. Wrote till my hearts content. Wrote for the last time ever.
I stepped out of the hospital for a while today. A strolled to the nearby park. Like every person who is about to leave for god's abode, even I am getting this rush of nostaligia within me. No wonder my eyes are wet with tears. I just am thanking god for these memorable 15 years he granted me to live. These were the best years of my life. And, after tonight when I will die, my diary will be given to my loved mother, and she will read all that I kept away from her. But, She will also learn that I had loved her more than anyone would ever love her. She was the only one afterall. No daddy or brother. Only her since my birth. But, She is not the only one I would like to thank, Its also you, My diary. My only best friend. The school girls never accepted me, but you? You welcomed me with open arms. Thank you so much Diary. I love you.
Oh, Its time I return back to my ward. Mother will be there soon, to bid me adieu. So, Here's my final goodbye to you diary. It was nice having you. Stay well.
All my love to you.
*Jhola- A Bengali/Hindi word used for a cloth bag.