What's the point in a diary if I don't write it till the end of the year?

I was walking down the street... there was a car... there was a car there and it was... what colour was it... it was blue, it was blue, no it was blue... look it was fucking blue alright... jesus.

I was walking down the street... it was summer... it was summer and the sun was... no... it was... it was winter... it wasn't that late... but it was dark. There were still leaves on the ground... quiet road... it was green... the car... it was green... the light was blue... there was a girl... I saw her face.

It was autumn, there was a man... his face was covered... there were leaves... white snow... the light was blue... the car was... it was too dark... it could have been anything... but the light, the light was blue.

It was late autumn. The time was 7pm. It was dark. There was a dark green car with a blue light. A man came out. His face was covered. I ran. The leaves were crunchy. There was a girl. Beautiful. Deep blue eyes. Cheeky smile. She was oddly familiar. A friend from my past. Someone who meant a lot. Her face swam into my vision. But. But she wasn't there. She was in my mind's eye. The street was racing. The snow, that, that came later. Buried me. That is all I remember now stop torturing me... please.