Literature
Butterflies
Dear diary,
I don't remember if I told you already, but I guess so, since it's always the same.
Summer.
I hate it. I hate it with a passion. It's not only because of the heat and the sun, but because of where I have to spend the summer. I hate the garden, I hate the house and especially I hate my father.
...
Dear diary,
it's even worse than I imagined. Already now my body is covered with mosquito- and bug-bites and some kind of allergic reaction to some plant in the garden. The rareness of me being asleep increases.
...
Dear diary,
you won't believe what happened. I don't believe it myself. I was in some kind of doze when I heard a l