Eleven days have passed since the new year, and I have just typed the text of this year at this moment.

I am not ashamed at all. Maybe it’s because time has made me look so shameless. I thought: I don’t understand anything and think about it, so it’s better not to write.

Unless, I can write and write and draw like my diary.

Speaking of which, I finished writing another book.

On December 18th, on the 10th day of December, I secretly told myself: Hello, have you seen it? One book is about to end again. Should I finish it in 2019? Then buy a diary with colorful paper and illustrations?

The answer is yes. For this reason, I rarely really started writing diaries. Including, I thought, what I did in the day, or wasting time, having strange dreams at night, and when I woke up, my head was dizzy, and even these seemingly nonsense words were written in strokes. In addition, I really like the brand new diary I own. On the red cover, the three words "Every Day" were simply written, and the illustrations were the freshness I liked.

One article a day, at most three pages of paper, at least one. According to this degree, we should worry about ending early.

However, there were two or three days, and I didn't move a single word, so that on the last day, I wrote from morning to night. It is undeniable that it was the most vivid and exciting record of my year, or a diary.

The impact I had on me afterwards was like a poisoning, leaving behind sequelae. If I didn’t write a diary for a day, my heart would be empty, and I deeply felt sorry for my twenty-four hours.

I used to read my diary, but now I'm less. It's not that I don't miss it, but I'm just that I'm better to make the future more fulfilling than missing it.

In the past, it would be better to keep an inch of space, and it would be better to keep an inch of space, and you know and I know it.
Chapter completed!