I am very interested and fascinated how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other.

He was the boy that made mix tapes with themes and hand-colored covers until the day he hit my sister and stopped crying.

I love my mom. And this time, I told her I loved her. And she told me she loved me, too. And things were okay for a little while.

Sam dropped me off. When she was too far away to see me, I started to cry again. Because she was my friend again. And that was enough for me.

I guess I'm pretty emotional.

I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.

I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like all I can do is keep writing this gibberish to keep from breaking apart.