Dear Diary
At least it’s beautiful outside. The orange and brown leaves have repainted the town.
The crisp wind feels so good. I haven’t written since the first two entries because I wanted my next entry to be about our first meeting, about Killian explaining everything to me, disproving Mael and the media. Sigh.
This notebook is as empty as my life. All I do is study and search for him. Two years. Two motherfucking years and he’s no nowhere. His family doesn’t seem to have ever existed. What the fuck?
Suffice it to say that neither Killian nor his family have ever been heard of in all of Dublin, Galway, or Cork.
In the first two years, I’ve been spending all my free time and money going to Ireland on holidays, not home to my family.
I always tell them I had too much to do and ignore their pleas, but my search for him has become hopeless.
Every time I go to Ireland in search of him and fail, it crushes me for weeks after.
My sadness follows me for the rest of my days, growing stronger, chipping me and the fragile hope that has held me together.
To manage it, I had to convert it to anger.
It strengthened my determination to find him, to find out what happened.
After a while, I couldn’t stop myself from being angry at him.
You’d think he’d try to contact me at some point.
Magdalena 20 years old, October