I don't know what this is going to say. I don't know what words I'll use. But they'll come. They always do. I never run out of words. Here. I'll pour my heart out.
I think you're in love with me. That sounds egotistical and silly. But it what's I'm picking up. It's what I feel.
Sometimes it's hard to feel alive. When you tell everyone something you think is true and it turns out to be a lie. That kind of sucks a little of the life out of you.
I'm okay. Not good. Not bad. Not excellent or horrible. But I'm okay. Sure, I cry like everyday. But I still have everything I love.
Everyone keeps saying that they're sorry and I'm going mad. Just stop. I'm not sorry, and it's my life, so why should you be sorry? None of you caused it. The last thing I want is pity.
It still doesn't feel like summer. I sleep in, and don't go to school, and I wear dresses all the time, and Josh's is opened. So?
Something keeps pulling me back to the same place. It forgets that I'm the wind. I forget sometimes.
So, I make a blanket fort where I feel safe. And continue to sit and fade away.
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