I jammed my hand in my jacket pocket, bracing myself fo the next hit, and fel something. Something grainy and samll, sticking to the tips of my fingers: the sand from Commons Park. Oh Cass, I thought. I miss you so, so much.

It passed, though. That was the bad thing. It always passed.

That's not a real answer.' Says who?' Says me. I mean real fear, like of failure, of death, of regret. Like that. Something that keeps you awake nights, questioning your very existence.' Clowns.

During this time we've been apart, it's you I've thought of when I'm at my weakest, and you who have pulled me through.

Really, it had been stupid to expect anything anyway. A few late nights does not a habit, or a relationship, make.

Life shouldn't be about the either/or. We're capable of more than that, you know?

I wasn't very happy in high school: it was a confusing and sort of sad time for me.