Dear Diary,
…Yes. I am really writing. It is not an illusion, or your imagination. I am not dead. I have not drowned.
How I managed to find you in this stupid hospital room is a mystery. You were just there, on the table beside the bed. Next to a vase. Full of flowers. They were red and blue, mixing together in a beautiful forest of stems and leaves.
Blue and red. Rain and storm.