And things were back to normal except we were just friends.

It's just that I don't want to be somebody's crush. If somebody likes me, I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am. And I don't want them to carry it around inside. I want them to show me, so I can feel it too.

Despite everything my mom and doctor and dad have said to me about blame, I can't stop thinking what I know. And I know that my aunt Helen would still be alive today if she just bought me one present like everybody else. She would be alive if I were born on a day that didn't snow.

All I could do is lie there and think about how much her voice changed when she asked me if she was pretty, and how much she changed when I answered.

I didn't know that other people thought things about me. I didn't know that they looked.

Sometimes, I look outside, and I think that a lot of other people have seen this snow before. Just like I think that a lot of other people have read those books before. And listened to those songs. I wonder how they feel tonight.

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