The Category of Best Literature

So having discovered the beauty in fiction at a young age, and having come to love poetry in my late teenage years, and having read massive amounts of both kinds of writing, I have finally discovered what I believe is the greatest form of literature. What is so incredibly sad is that this perfect art form is so totally rare and valuable, I must soak it in while I have it, and appreciate it while I can. It's so beautiful, and it isn't even quite shareable. This amazing literature is found in the form of diary. It is the allowed reading of someone else's diary.

I have been given this privilege twice only, but it is truly beautiful. When someone writes their diary, there are 2 aspects about it that make it sort of magical. First, the author is writing with the intent that what they write will never actually be read. Not like, written from that perspective, but actually not meant for anyone else to ever have access to. Of course, times change, and people connect in ways where they later decide to share, but at the time of conception, it is for one person alone. The second amazing quality is in the ability to trust the author. You can be certain that everything put in a diary is true, or at least honestly believed by the person writing it. With other writing, you can never be sure what is being changed, or even lied about; but a diary is so personal, and so much for its own sake, there can be no need to question.

This kind of art, and that's what I've decided it truly is, is something that feels magical to me. It is the opposite of the poetry and the literature I saturate my soul in; it is not meant to be immortal! This is not art to be art, this is writing from the soul, meant to be invisible and disappear. This is a glimpse at the art of someone's personal reality, and it is magnificent to behold. The spelling mistakes, scratches out, the rambling, the inconsistencies in their experiences and ideas... the thought process!! Nothing like this exists, or can be created. To fake this, just lacks the rawness of it. Maybe it is just because of whose diaries I've read, but I don't care. People judge the overall preference of poetry or paintings based on what they've seen, so this is just what makes sense. The diary has to be shared willingly, and I need to know the person at least somewhat. I have read innocence, and I have read what can only be described as "beautiful, youthful tragedy".

I am in love with the art I have discovered, and I am touched to my artful soul in a way I would never have expected. But in a way, it's as perfect as humanity can ever be, and I believe that. I wish we all had diaries, and I wish we all wanted to keep them secret, only to decide later to share them with everyone else, who also wants to read it from start to finish. I haven't written in a long time, and this blog is sort of a new medium for me; but I enjoy it. This may be the closest thing to a diary I ever keep, though my love for this art form is so strong and young, I may be driven to keep one. The only problem is that if I do, I will be writing it with the intention that it will one day be read. I don't really think I'll ever be able to create this kind of literature or the human soul.

How about this, when most of humanity is gone, and zombies are roaming the Earth, I'll be pretty certain no one will ever get a chance to read my diary. I'll make one then.