From a diary

How many times I thought you'd leave this world for me. If there's no me in the whole world you leave it just at the moment. How naive I was, how dependable of you, of feelings I felt near you.
Anyway, you're still live here, close to me, but not with me more. You don't even think of leaving the city, not the world.
Close to me, lying to me, making me dependable of you on and on, and leaving me. You know, my heart doesn't feel pain, it's disable to feel something from you. Moreover, I even don't know, why am I writing that here. May be, hope you'll read it? Or just need to waste my time? I prefer the second.