I am really in love with Sam, and it hurts very much.

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.

It's strange because sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book.

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.

The inside jokes weren't jokes anymore. they had become stories

When the police came, they found my brother asleep on the roof. Nobody knows how he got there.

I sat down and tried to write a story. "Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight." That was the first sentence. The problem was that I just couldn't think of the next one. After cleaning my room three times, I decided to leave Ian alone for a while because I was starting to get mad at him.