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

They just knew. And I think that's all you can ever ask from a friend.

So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them.

It's just hard to see a friend hurt this much. Especially when you can't do anything except 'be there.' I just want to make him stop hurting, but I can't. So I just follow him around whenever he wants to show me his world.

Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense.

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 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.