Dear Diary,
Father has not died yet. However, his eyes are as yellow as Dandelions. Usually that tells of a close proximity of death. I dare not to be too hopeful however, it seems he has made a habit of cheating death.
And then....There is a man who seems to be oddly fond of my company. It is rare someone follows me home to see to my safety. I suppose he is tolerable compared to most men. Although I am young when he is old. I have a symmetric nose when he has a crooked one. I speak my mind when his voice is weak. I am healthy when he is ill.
The list is endless. By all logic I should not be interested in this man.
By all logic he should not be interested in me either. I am mean when he is kind. I will only end up using him, and he will allow it. If living with father had not stolen all the light from my heart, I would feel sorry for him.
Although in all fairness, I did warn him. Twice.
Perhaps I should check if the wax has clogged his ears the next time I see him.
But if his ears are clean I will allow myself to allow him to allow me to use him.
I can imagine plenty of things he could do for me.
