And what if in the future we're at war again, or we still haven't elected a non-white or non-male president, or the Rolling Stones are still dragging their tired old butts on stage? That would depress me way too much.

People grow apart, and sometimes, there nothing anyone can do about it.

When you try rescuing someone and discover they can't be reached, why would you ever throw that back in their face?

What the hell happened to Pluto?!

Everything...affects everything

I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.

I could picture life—school and everything else—continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine who would attend or what they would say.