I don't know how much longer I can keep going without a friend. I used to be able to do it very easily, but that was before I knew what having a friend was like.

I wonder what it will be like when I leave this place.

And even if she says no, and really means yes, then quite frankly she's playing games and isn't worth the price of dinner.

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

When I was done reading the poem, everyone was quiet. A very sad quiet. But the amazing thing was that it wasn’t a bad sad at all. It was just something that made everyone look around at each other and know that they were there. Sam and Patrick looked at me. And I looked at them. And I think they knew. Not anything specific really. They just knew. And I think that’s all you can ever ask from a friend.

It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. And it gets to a point where none of it seems real.

Maybe he didn’t really encourage me to do things, but he didn’t prevent me from doing them either. But after a while, I didn’t do things because I didn’t want him to think different about me. But the thing is, I wasn’t being honest. So, why would I care whether or not he loved me when he didn’t really even know me?