Part 15, the Diary
By Anna

Monica sat on the couch and stared into space. It was the next day, and Chandler had been hostile all morning, before he took off to get some work done. Monica was unsure what to make of his hostility, and unsure over how to make everything okay again. She was not going to give in to him, she felt she was right, and nothing he said could convince her otherwise. But she still realised that the first attempt of reconciliation should come from her, since sheíd caused him enough harm and pain to last for a lifetime, she owed him to show that she cared and wanted things to be all right between them again.

"How do we work this out?" she said out loud. "I believe one thing, he believes another. I wonít budge, he canít make me tell him lies. I donít remember what my reason for not telling him was, and if he doesnít believe that then he doesnít deserve the truth if I knew what it was."

She sighed and shook her head.

ĎGet a grip, Mon!í she thought. ĎChandler deserves the truth and so much more. He deserves much better than you, he deserves a woman whoÖí

Monica looked down on her hands. She didnít know the continuation of that sentence. She didnít really know what she thought Chandler deserved. All she knew was that he deserved better than her.

ĎShould I bend?í she thought. ĎShould I give in to him this once? Do I owe him that? And will a lie make him feel better?í

She shook her head and leaned back on the couch. She turned her head to the TV and decided that the soap opera that was on didnít interest her, so she shut it off.

ĎI wonder what the others are up toí she thought. ĎTheyíve surely noticed that weíre gone. Or that heís gone, anyway.í She frowned, getting back to the previous line of thoughts. ĎNo, I wonít give in to Chandler. He may deserve allot from me, but not this. Not when he treated me the way he did last night. I donít even think he loves me anymore, and I think he realised that last night and started to hate me.í

She rose and went into the bedroom, starting to unpack the bag theyíd brought. Among the clothes she noticed a book that looked familiar.

ĎWhatís my diary doing here?í she thought, and picked it up.

Sitting down on the bed she opened the diary and saw her handwriting fill pages, telling stories of what happened over a year ago. She opened the book a large amount of pages later, and now saw Chandlerís handwriting.

ĎWhat theÖ?í she thought.

She quickly looked up the page where her own handwriting had been replaced by his. Her last entry had been the day before the accident, his a few days after, while she was in the coma.

ĎWhat am I supposed to do with this?í she thought. ĎIs this his diary now? Or am I allowed to read this? And why did he even open my diary to begin with?í

"Monica, if you ever read this, and I hope you will" she read.

ĎSo he wants me to read this, thatís for sureÖí she thought. ĎWell then I might as well. And heís written allot too.í

She closed the book and put it away, then rose to continue unpacking.

ĎIím not so sure I want to read what heís written in thereí she thought. ĎI donít want to hear about all of the pain Iíve caused him. And Iíd feel like a spy, reading his thoughts like that. Even with his permission.í

But once she had unpacked everything she ended up sitting on the bed again, the diary in her hands.

ĎIíll read the first entryí she thought. ĎAnd then I can determine weather or not I should read anything else.í

"Monica, if you ever read this, and I hope you will, I would like to apologize for writing in your diary. And I promise you, I havenít read anything. But I needed to see your handwriting, needed to see something that was so typically you, and the diary was on your nightstand so I picked it upÖ I realized I couldnít look at anything other than the dates, because I wonít invade your privacy like that. So forgive me, and I love you very much. CB."

"Not much of a first noteÖ" Monica said to herself. "Well, at least it doesnít tell me why heís written so many other entries." She looked at the next one, dated the next day.

"Well, here I am, writing in your diary againÖ I hope you donít mind Mon, but I felt so much better after writing to you in here yesterday, so Iím thinking of continuing to writeÖ And itís for you to read, this is all for you, not for me. Not as much, anyway. And if you god forbid should die, I hope youíll read this from wherever you are. And if you live then you will know how much Iíve thought about you.

I wonít say anything about the accident, not right now, itís too vividly clear and painful. I just wish Iíd be struck with amnesia and forget everything that happened during that one awful day."

ĎTrust me,í Monica thought, Ďyouíd never ever want to have amnesia.í

"I thought it would all be so much easier now, thoughÖ And in part it is. Youíre alive. My heart can beat in itís normal pace again. But youíre still not guaranteed to stay alive. If you die on me now Mon, then Iíll justÖ I just donít think that Iím strong enough for that. The guys tell me that Iím wrong, that the strength I showed at the hospital that day proved that Iím strong, but they are so far from the truth. To be strong is to dare to show your emotions, to dare to cry, scream and go hysterical. I kept it all inside of me that day, but honey you know I desperately wanted to loose it completely and let myself bring out the emotions. Gosh, listen to me, I sound like Iím living in the 19th centuryÖ Anyway, I love you Monica, forgive me for writing in your diary, and donít be mad at me for continuing with it. CB."

The next entry was made three days later.

"Okay, I confess. Iím scared out of my mind. The doctors say that the longer you stay in this condition, the worse the odds get. And I hate you for doing this to me, I hate you so much for putting me through this pain and fear, youíd better come back to me or Iíll hate you forever!

Oh gosh, Iím so sorry, I didnít mean that, forgive me! But I am so scared! You have no clue what itís like, seeing someone you love in this condition, seeing someone you need so desperately, slipping away from you with every minute. Come back to me, I need you, canít you see that, Mon? Donít you know how desperately I need you to be here next to me? And if you do, then why are you still beyond my reach?

I want to tell you all of this and so much more, each time I sit by your bedside. But itís harder to say words than to write words, and I am so scared that I will say something to you that I might regret forever. Like what I just wrote earlier, for example. And itís easier to deal with in writing, because if you ever read this then I know that you will also read about how sorry I am.

Have I by the way told you that I owe your life to Joey? Youíve got his left kidney now, and hopefully that will help you recover. And Joey will always have my gratitude for that, even though I know he didnít do this for me. He did it for you, because he loves you. Everyone does. So donít desert us know. We love you, Monica. CB."

Monica turned the page, having decided to read some more. The next entry was made just over a week after the accident.

"Monica, I miss you, I miss you, miss you! Right now thatís all in my head, I miss you, I miss you so damned much I could just fill this entire page, and then a few more, with just writing that I miss you. And youíre not dead, so how will I feel if you die? Please donít leave me, I canít handle dealing with all of this, seeing you in this condition, missing you. I know they say that thereís always enough sorrow and grief to go around, but how come I seem to have gotten many times my share?

I miss you! I miss you in the lonely mornings when I wake up all alone, knowing that thereís no one beside me that I can turn to and snuggle with. I miss you when I have breakfast all alone, nothing tastes good anymore. Nothing tastes at all. I found some leftovers in the freezer from that casserole you made two weeks ago. I wasnít sure if it was eatable anymore, but I micro waved it anyway, and itís the only thing thatís tasted anything since you were taken away from me. Gosh, listen to me, I sound as if youíre dead. Itís just that I miss you so much, you are too far away from me, I canít reach you. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you. I miss you whenever I set foot at Central Perk, and I even miss you when Iím with you at the hospital. I never really know if anything else than your body is there, maybe your mind is somewhere else. And I miss you when I get home in the evenings and no one greets me with a smile that I know is reserved for me. And when I go to sleep, which is either in the guest room, on the couch or over at Joeyís place, I lie awake for hours, missing you. Iím so used to having your body next to mine when Iím going to sleep, that trying to sleep alone feels wrong. I often fall asleep while visiting you at the hospital, because then youíre near.

Iím sorry sweetie, I didnít mean to rant like this, but you have no idea what my loss feels like! Someone might as well have ripped half of my body away. I would rather be paralysed completely for the rest of my life, than loose you. And I know for sure that itís true, because there is nothing that I wouldnít trade to get this feeling to go away, to get you back.

Will it always be like this, Mon? Am I doomed to miss you for the rest of my life? Can I continue to live if Iíll constantly have to deal with being alone, acting happy for friends and family, wondering what could have been, and missing you, missing you, I will miss you for ever and ever!

I hope you can somehow read this, or somehow read my mind. Which I guess is the same as reading this. Itís like Iím not even aware that Iím writing, the words are just being written by my hand as I think them.

I miss you, miss you, miss you, miss you! CB."

Monica looked up from the diary and took a deep breath. She almost started to cry, sheíd had no idea that heíd been this desperate. Heíd talked about how afraid he was of loosing her when heíd been at her bedside, but heíd never really spelled it out like this.

ĎI canít read anymore of this!í she thought, closed the book and placed it in her nightstand drawer. ĎChandlerís emotions are so strong, and I am not worthy of them. I canít betray him by reading this, I love him too much.í

Chandler came home a few hours later. He said hello, but not much else. Monica made dinner, and they ate in silence.

"So weíre playing the silence game?" Monica carefully said, as they finished off dinner.

"We might as well" Chandler replied. "You donít say much that is true. So why should I waste my time listening?"

Monica bit her bottom lip and quickly rose to gather the dishes. His comment had hurt far more than intended, but she refused to cry in his presence. She wished that he would leave, to go buy a newspaper or anything else. She wanted to be alone, so she could cry. She recalled that Chandler had written something about how strength was to be able to cry and show your emotions, but she didnít care. If he wanted to think of her as weak then that was up to him.

Chandler went to bed early, tired from working and from all of the emotional storms heíd been through during the past two days. He noticed that the bag was unpacked, and wondered where the diary was. If Monica didnít remember it, then where had she put it? And if she did remember it, had she opened it?

Monica joined him shortly after, also tired. But before she went to sleep she sat in bed for a while, writing in a small notepad.

"What are you doing?" Chandler asked, not really interested, mostly out to break the thick and icy tension.

"Iím starting a new diary" Monica told him. "I canít seem to find the one I had last year. It must have been thrown in the trash, or something."

So Monica didnít have it. Then who did? Where was it? Chandler couldnít figure it out, he was so sure heíd packed it the night before. But maybe it was still in the bag where he usually kept it. The bag was actually an old backpack with a lock, and he kept it there, along with a few other things from his "past life" where he could lock it up. He didnít want anyone to be snooping around. He shrugged his shoulders and decided to let it go. Wherever it was, it was without reach for anyone.

The next day Chandler left early for work, leaving Monica all alone again.

ĎI donít understand himí she thought. ĎHe must know how disoriented I feel, how lonely and abandoned. And yet he hurries off to work as soon as possible.í

After a while Monica took out the diary. She had lied to Chandler the night before, but she felt so lousy reading through it, and she wanted to read a few more entries. She knew that heíd written it all for her, but he surely didnít feel the same way about her anymore, so maybe he didnít want her to read it. After all, it was intended for his girlfriend Monica, not his ex-girlfriend Monica. And Monica wasnít sure if she was his girlfriend again or not.

She read through his entries that came before the day after her awakening. When she came to that part she realised she wouldnít be reading about her past self anymore, sheíd be reading about the person sheíd been for over a year.

"I canít even tell youÖ I am so very happy and relievedÖ Itís like an answered prayer, you are awake again! Honey I canít even begin to describe my feelings at this moment, just like I never really could describe how I felt when you were in a coma.

I love you, and now my days of missing are over!

Just about twelve hours ago I was sitting next to you, talking about my missing and about how I canít take living without you. And then I fell asleep and woke up by your voice saying my name. My name. You said Chandler, and it was like a sign to me! Maybe all you needed was for me to tell you in spoken words what I have written down here. Although I didnít quote my past entries, I did tell you how I canít go on living without you, living with the pain, and I spelled out my heart for you completely. And then you wake me up by saying my name. I love you, I love you more than you can imagine!"

Monica noticed that he no longer wrote CB after his entry, and she wondered if heíd forgotten it in his excitement.

ĎExcitement over me waking upí she thought. ĎItís so tough to comprehend that you can affect someoneís life like that. That there is someone who loves me that much. But itís a great thing to know, and I love him that much too.í

Chandlerís next entry came a few days later.

"I thought the pain was over. I really did. And Monica, darling, I am not accusing you of anything, but the way you look at me has changed, and that hurts. Amnesia, the doctor tells me. Can it really be that you might never ever know me again? Youíre so unsure, I can tell that, it must be tough not being able to put a name to a familiar face, or perhaps a face to a familiar name. But I have no doubt you will recover, youíve gotten through this much, havenít you? Thereís no reason to believe you wonít get passed anything further. CB."

"He left his initials again" Monica noted. Then she nearly closed the diary again. "My gosh" she said, shaking her head. "Chandler am I really allowed to read all of this?"

"I hope you donít disapprove." Chandler continued in the diary. "But I am going to continue writing for you in here, until you can take over the task of filling this diary."

Monica looked at the page, and then looked at how many other pages there were like that one.

ĎItís taken a long time,í she thought, "but I think that Iím finally ready to take over now."

Three hours passed. By now Monica had read as far as when sheíd returned from the hospital. She was in the middle of reading his entry right after sheíd come home.

"So now youíre home, but things still arenít as they should. I hardly ever admit it except for while writing in here, and I only admit it here because I canít lie to you. Last night when we went to bed together I forgot about your situation in the joy of having you back, and I rolled over and put my arm around you. You froze the minute I touched you. And it hurt Monica, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt! But youíre not the one to blame, neither of us are. Can I ever touch you again? Will you ever go to sleep in my arms again, like you used to do? I knew all along that I was too happy and too lucky for it to last. And it didnít last. But why did it have to affect you? Youíre so much better than me, and you deserve to be happy all of your life. Not being struck by something like this. CB."

"I heard you cry last night. You probably thought I was asleep, but I heard your sobs. Itís the physical pain I guess, youíre injured so bad that youíll probably always feel the painÖ But I also think that you were crying over how you canít remember anymore. And I wanted so badly to turn around and pull you into a hug, to comfort you. But I didnít, because I didnít want you to feel uncomfortable, that would only make it worse for you.

Sweetie I love you, I really do, and I refuse to believe that this attitude you seem to have gotten is something that will last. How could it be that Iíve waited for something that would never come again? I refuse to believe that that would be the case, because if I did then I would loose my mind. CB."

Monica continued to read, and after a while she came across the night when she had tricked Chandler.

"I donít believe that you have done this! Right now Monica Geller I hate you! And have you ever known how hard it is to hate someone that you love? You canít, and that drives me insane, since I need to hate you!

You tricked me! I thought you were all mine again, but you were only pulling some sick trick on me! And here I am still, spelling out all of my feelings and all of my agony to you! All of those things that I just canít say to your face, but that I would have no problem saying to the Monica of the beginning of 2000.

Why did you have to do this? Am I a total idiot for loving you so badly? Am I even loving you, or someone you were? Who are you these days? And who am I writing to? Is it fair to say that Iím writing to You, or am I actually writing to the former You? To tell you the truth, I donít want to find out. How come there has to be two You anyway? Why canít you just be who you were?

I once asked you why you kept a diary, and you told me it was because you could always write down your feelings in it. Well you were wrong, because all of the feelings that are stacked up inside of me are too difficult to put on paper. Maybe the whole concept of words is silly, because there are so many things that Iím right now feeling that I donít know any words for.

Betrayal is one of the words I do know. I have never felt so betrayed in my life. But thatís a different issue, I donít want to get lost in rants of how mad I am at you for doing this to me, because I donít know what You Iím turning to.

I guess itís like what you said to me once, something about how the deepest feelings are also the ones kept deepest inside, among everything thatís never said. You know, we used to be able to just look at each other and read each otherís minds. I feared such connection all my life, because I never wanted to be an open book for another human being. But now I find myself missing that. And even if we re-establish that connection, will it ever be the same?

I guess youíve wanted to know, if youíve ever started reading this, why Iíve continued writing in your diary. I guess lately it seems as if all Iím doing is criticizing you."

ĎWhatever criticism youíve written in here,í Monica thought, ĎIíve totally deserved.í

"Trust me, my sweetheart, I am not out to complain about you. At first I only wrote in here to easen the pain, and to get to tell you everything I needed you to know. But then you woke up, and I could tell you everything to your face. And lord knows I tried, Monica, but you werenít willing to listen, I made you uncomfortable. You might feel guilty now, reading this, if you ever do read this, but itís not your fault. Itís whatís happened to you, and you canít change that anymore than I can.

But when it comes to me continuing to write in this, it feels good to write in here. Itís as if Iím continuing your story. Okay, I know that sounded tacky, but between us thereís never been anything thatís said what we could and could not tell each other.

Iíve thought at times that I should just hand you the diary, let you read it all from beginning to my last entry. After all, it is your diary. But Iíve always given up on that idea immediately, and there are two reasons for that. Dr. Barkley told us that we shouldnít give you your memories in hand, that you had to remember it all on your own, and we should only help you by giving you plausible keys. Thatís one reason. Reading your own diary would definetely hand you allot of information about your past in hand, and that would be wrong I guessÖ And the second reason has nothing to do with any medical stuff, no doctors are involved. Call me crazy Monica, but you are so different now. Youíre not the Monica I knew and fell in love with. With that Iím not saying I donít love you anymore, you are the love of my life still. But I feel as if by letting you read your past entries I betray that Monica from the past that stole my heart. Itís almost as if the entries youíve made in this diary are the only things that are left of who you were. And I canít sell you out like that, it would be letting a stranger read your diary, and I love you so much that I will protect your private entries. I havenít read them myself.

Donít get me wrong now, at this moment I am still so furious with you that you canít even know, but the Monica from a year ago didnít do anything, why should I sell her out? CB."

"Sell me out to myselfÖ" Monica muttered. "Now thatís ironicÖ"

She suddenly got an impulse, grabbed a pen and found the nearest blank paper in the diary.

"Chandler, you know who this is," she wrote, then paused. She thought for a second, and then she felt the words coming.

"I have read part of your entries by now. Iíve read as far as the entry you made the night I pulled that horrible trick on you. And I am so moved by what you have written this far, have you any idea what it means to me to get it clarified that you feel so strongly about me? I donít even understand how you could still love me, I have been so mean and cruel. And I donít really know if you do love me anymore. I know that I am not the person I used to be, but on the other hand Iím not either the person I have been for a year now. I donít really know who I am, and neither do you. But Iím thinking that you must have lost your love for me by now. My guess is that you could face me acting as I did earlier because I didnít remember who you were, and you knew that I didnít act that way carrying strong feelings for you. But last night that changed, I remembered you and our love, and now you know that I love you just as I did before. So now it must be harder for you to deal with my new me. I donít even want to have a new Me, but thatís the way it is, honey. I canít change that. This year has changed me, itís had an impact on my personality that I canít change. I canít go back to being the Monica I was, but I want you to know that my love for you is as strong as ever. And I will do whatever it takes to earn your love for real, I want you to love me like I am now and not just for the parts of me that are the same as before. Confusing it might sound, but true it is. You are the love of my life, now and always, and we both know that. Iíve been so lost this year without your constant love and support. Not that it hasnít been there, I just havenít realized I should take it. With your love, trust, support and above all forgiveness I am sure I can get back on my feet and become the person I need to be, which is much closer to who I was then who I am now. You have honoured and respected me all through this, you havenít read a single entry in my diary, as far as I know. But you can if you want to, I have no secrets from you anymore, you deserve the truth and nothing else. I havenít read any of my own entries myself, and I guess that if you read through the entry I mentioned earlier that Iíd just read, youíll see why. Right now I want to offer you the truth. I canít give it to you, but Monica a year ago can. You have my permission to read my diary from the very first entry to this one, or any entry I might add later on. But I am urging you to read any entry that might give you an explanation to why I never let you know about the pregnancy. I hate telling you lies now, so please, read it and find out. And I hope that whatever my reason was youíll be able to forgive me. I love you so."

She put the pen aside and looked up the next unread entry from Chandler. She read a couple of entries that mostly dealt with his agony over being tricked by her like that.

"I felt like Iíd been taken from heaven to hell, in just a few seconds" one of them said. "One minute you are all mine again, and the nextÖ You cannot imagine how it felt, I was so absorbed with my strong love for you, and then I realised it was just a trick."

Monica shook her head and tried to focus on just reading, trying not to get caught up in guilt. It was too late for that now anyway. She noticed that there all of a sudden was a leap in the entries. For nearly two weeks Chandler hadnít written anything at all.

"I have kept away from this diary for a week or soÖ Okay, I know exactly for how many days, but thatís beside the point. I guess you might like to know why.

I have a thousand questions, and this diary contains the answers to all of them. Did you ever truly love me? Who was that George-fellow really? Was I making you happy? And how come I never got to hear you tell me I was going to be a father?

The thing is that I canít read the answers. They are within my reach, but I canít read them. Itís not fair to you, weather or not you really loved me you still deserve to be able to keep some things a secret. Even though it hurts so much not knowing why you never told me about the baby, and if you loved me really.

I havenít doubted your love for a single second, babe, but some of the things you said tonightÖ You said that you didnít believe that you could forget someone you love truly and completely, and yet youíd forgotten me, so how could you have really loved me? How much do you really know about this, and how much are you making up? Can you forget the strongest love youíve felt, or is that downright impossible? I hope it is not, because as long as it isnít thereís still hope that you loved me once. But it hurts so damned much to know that thereís nothing left of your love. They say you need to be two to love, but I know itís not true. You can be in love on your own, just ask me, Ďcause I am. Loving has nothing to do with weather or not the other person feels it back, itís all about caring so much for another person that you are ready to burst with the emotion. Maybe you just canít fall in love on your ownÖ I did have feelings for you long before we ended up in bed together, but I didnít get to the point of real love until we got together.

Maybe I always felt it stronger than you did. Is that possible? Could that be an explanation to why I still feel this while you donít? And if things had been the other way around, would you still have loved me? Would you? I wish I knew the answer to that.

Sometimes I wonder which one of us has the hardest time. I have to go on living life as if nothing is different, walk in the same traces, do the same things, only you arenít there by my side as you should be. That way I have a pure hell. For you nothing is familiar, and I guess that is just as hard. You donít recognize anything, thereís no real security in your life, I guess thatís one of the reasons why you do this. It does explain why you arenít the same, because you need to get tougher to survive during those circumstances. And this whole experience has taught me something valuable. Being loved is not always as important as loving. You know they say that itís better to love and to loose than to never love at all, and I know that itís true. And I am thankful that you at least got to love before the accident. And I pray you will get to love again, even if it wonít be me that you love. I sure hope it will be, though. But the point is that I am the one who loves, you are the one whoís loved, and still I think that my life might be brighter than yours. I have something, someone to live for, whilst you, forgive me Monica, donít anymore. Or maybe you do, what do I really know? But itís not as it used to be.

By now Iím sure youíll probably never read this far. Who has the interest to read this much, huh? Who would devote much time to read through my rants, that mostly sound just the same? I love you, I really do, I love you, and this is still all for you Iím writing, but Iíve realized now that you probably wonít read through it all. CB."

Monica grabbed her pen again and wrote another entry right after her last one.

"Do you know how right you are about everything? I think youíve missed your calling, you should have been a shrink or something. You understand me, like no one else. Youíre wrong about one thing though, and Iím sure you know what, I have the interest to read anything youíve written in this diary. After all, it was written for me. So who should read it if not me? And your words deserve to be read, not so much for what youíve written but for all the emotions and secret messages I find behind the lines. I think we might very well re-establish our connection that you spoke about. I feel like I become more and more like my old self for every one of your entries that I read. And you are very right about the loving thing. And Chandler, one thing I want you to know, there is nothing that I am more thankful of than having your love, that Iíve been loved by you. If you love as devotedly as you do, and you stick by it as strongly as you do, then the person who you love is the luckiest person alive. And I hope I can compensate you for all of your miseries, and that all of my love will be enough for you. But Chandler if itís not then I hope you someday find some woman who will love you the same way you loved me. Because you of all people deserve it."

Monica put away the pen and went back to reading the entries. She hoped Chandler would be home soon, she wanted him to read what sheíd written to him, and she wanted to patch things up again. If there was even just one fifth left of his love for her, then they would be able to work things out without any problems. And her love for him grew stronger by the minute. She felt like she had an entire year of strong love to catch up on.

ĎGod I wish this had never happenedí she thought. ĎBut on the other hand it has truly showed me how real love looks like. Romeo can take a hike, I know a man who loves much more and so much more real.í

The clock on Chandlerís nightstand showed that the time was 14:57. Monica was still reading the diary entries. Chandler had written some really long ones the last week, and each one took about twenty minutes for Monica to read, since she always reflected on what heíd written, and realized more and more what the past year had been like for him. And with that realisation she grew more and more afraid of finding out that Chandler no longer loved her.

"Can I take it if you no longer love me, Chandler?" she wrote, when she for the third time made her own entry. "Am I destined to love you without getting any love back, like you have loved me during this year?"

"Tonight Iíve watched you kiss Pete Becker. Iíve watched you kiss him like youíve kissed me at times. Iíve actually seen you kiss the man who brought all of this on, even though he didnít do it intentionally. Why is it that every time I feel like Iíve really reached rock bottom, something else happens that makes me realize that pain is never-ending, and will grow deeper all the time? I know what puts an end to all of this, but thatís not something I can count upon happening. After a year, actually one year tomorrow (the anniversary of the accident, now thatís something to celebrate, isnít it?), there is nothing that can make me think youíll remember. I still hope though, hope is the last thing that abandons the man. But right now I really donít knowÖ

I wonder what itís like, babe. What itís like to not remember your past. And to not remember a love like ours. Even if you never really loved me you must still admit that there was something truly special about the way we were in love.

I miss you! I miss you, I miss you, I canít go on without you! I know Iíve said it before, and Iíll probably say it again, but the feeling that something so important has gone lost and you might not ever get it back hurts! I hurts so bad, and even though I see you every single day I canít really reach you now either. And I canít tell you how much I love you, which I at least could do when you were in the coma. I donít want to go back to that stage, but I would like to just once look at you and tell you how badly I love you. But Iím too afraid of how you would react if I did. So instead I write down my feelings in here, hoping that one day you will read them. And hopefully by then I wonít be missing you anymore. Hopefully by then I will see love in your eyes when I look into them. CB."

That was Chandlerís last full entry. Heíd started an entry later on, but it was unfinished.

"Thereís no worse ache than heartache. Iím not even going to bother to write about my aching heart and my depression today, it feels as if the depression is getting a hold of me. Is this all because of you, or do I have myself to blame? I donít really blame you, youíre not aware of how much youíre hurting me. You probably donít remember what itís like to love like this, so you wouldnít know the pain Iím going through. And as Iíve said before, you canít hate someone you love. And I do love you, weíve established that so many times by now.

I want my girlfriend back! I donít want to go on alone! We were so damned close, we were like two missing pieces in each otherís puzzles. You completed my life, and I think I completed yours. But I guess that if I want to continue using the puzzle metaphor, that the difference between us now is that while Iím missing the most important piece, youíre missing almost all the pieces. Okay, thatís enough of me being poetic or whatever, thereís something else thatís on my mind, something I really want to vent to youÖ"

That was the last thing heíd written. Monica realized that heíd most likely been interrupted while writing, and hadnít gotten around to continue with telling her whatever it was that heíd had on his mind.

She grabbed the pen again and decided to write a fourth and final entry for now.

"Well if we decide to stick with your puzzle metaphor then this is what I thinkÖ I think that my puzzle now has the most important piece, only Iím not so sure where it goes. And there are a whole lot of other pieces missing so I canít really see the picture on the puzzle clearly. In your case I think you know where to look for the missing piece, and I know that if you choose to find it in me then you will find it soon. Iím not going to take up more room or much of your time with this entry, but I guess that I need to tell you that I love you. Really, I do. I was hurt by you last night and the night before, I wonít deny that, but I still love you most of all. Canít we make this work? I really want to give it a try, but I guess it might be doomedÖ I have this really crazy memory of making a choice on the day of the accident, and that I didnít make the choice I was supposed to. So then our lives got screwed up. Obviously Iím talking about a choice made after the accident and not before, but Iím not really sure what this memory is all about, so I wonít get into that any more, it would just confuse us both. Did I ever tell you that the first memory of an incident that I got back was about you? I was reading one of the books youíd brought me at the hospital, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I remembered that I had cut off your toe when I was eighteenÖ What ever happened with that toe, I canít remember. Did they reattach it? Itís strange, some parts of different situations are a blur, I canít remember them at all. Itís like the end of "It". Or the beginning of "It", for that matter. But the point is that you were the first person I remembered a situation with. Not one of our best moments perhaps, but it was still something about you and me. And Iíll tell you the truth, I feel so stupid and IQ lacking, for not realizing that youíve been loving me for real all this time, and for not remembering you. You deserve to be remembered, almost all of my happiest memories include youÖ Not that I have many memories, but stillÖ Love you, hope you still love meÖ Monica Geller."

She sighed and slammed the diary shut. Then she left it inside a shirt that she placed on the bed for Chandler to find.