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.

It's nice to have things to look forward to.

I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn't try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have.

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

I feel like a big faker because I've been putting my life back together, and nobody knows.

I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me.

And I could see this boy doing his homework and thinking about my sister naked. And I could see them holding hands at football games that they do not watch. And I could see this boy throwing up in the bushes at a party house. And I could see my sister putting up with it. And I felt very bad for both of them.