Dear Diary:

Hello, little green notebook with leaf patterns on the cover. I found you under my bed, and I think I got you for my birthday a few years ago.

I can take up as much space as I want, skipping lines, and it feels rather nice.

You don't know why, but I hope by writing these words on your pages you can understand me.

I'm not going to be around much longer.

I picked you up because I was looking for that fountain pen with the calligraphy tip, and I needed it to write my 'last will and testament'.

I can't write it in here, obviously. Actually, I have no idea how to make it legally sound. Actually, I don't care very much what happens to all the clutter in my room.

As a matter of fact, I don't care at all. There. That could easily sum up the rest of what I could ever write.

I don't care about anything and I want to leave. Ah, that looks really bitter on this pale green page.

Well, if I seem a little bitter, well that's because I am. Inside, I guess.

I'm in my second-last year of high school. All the possibilities in the world are laid out before me.

Each and every one is about as appealing as month-old leftovers you find in the corner of the freezer where someone hid them by mistake.

(Diary, that happened. It was not appetizing.)

I don't want to study history. It only shows all of the mistakes humanity keeps making over and over.

Math is only good for making things which in turn will aid this slow funeral march of history.

Same situation with science.

Art is useless.

Music- it is even more so. No one cares about how you feel, so you should just shut up.
Feelings, feelings... when people ask how you are, they don't even expect an answer.

(Diary, I'm not as angsty as this suggests. Really!)

It's not a bad succession, my train of thoughts- I find fault in something, then I find fault in it's better points.

Then I start to write a will, and then I even stop caring about what will happen concerning my suicide.

I really hope no one gets too upset about this.

Oh, hello future police or parents or whoever reads this. I'm really quite happy to be leaving, so don't bother with wearing black or giving flowers.

I'm never coming back to tell you how I am, or haunt anyone.

I'm getting away from this world, in search of a place with something I can rely on.

A world frozen in time would be ideal, but anywhere is better than here.

OK, maybe I better identify myself in case this is found by some total stranger.

My name is Mikuo. I'm average looking, but some people think it's odd I have greenish-bluish hair.

I have a few casual friends, and I dated this girl Neru once. It wasn't very fun, but I assumed dating was something to do before I left.

I'm really a normal kind of person.

I don't act depressed or anything; I try to be nice to everyone.

I'm not depressed. Life is nice, I guess. Not really a big deal, I think.

I just don't want to live anymore, because life is never going to be worth the effort.

Or maybe it never was. I'll just make up my mind: life is OK, I guess.

I think that's about it. I live in a town near the ocean, and there's this huge cliff overlooking it about a half-hour away.

The only problem is that there are many roads on and around it, but I'm going to ride my bike so I don't think there'll be a problem.

The only thing I feel a little nervous about is that I'm not sure how to say good-bye.

It's not cheating just to write it down, is it?

Do I need an official suicide note? I don't want people to think it was an accident.

I'll just leave this notebook on my bed. Yeah.

Um, I'm not sure how to end this, and I'm sorry Diary, for not using you before this.

I always felt bad when I found a piece of paper with only a few words.

Good-bye everyone, maybe I'll see you again someday.

-Mikuo Hatsune