We lived in the attic, Christopher, Cory, Carrie, and me, Now there are only three.

What is normal? Normal is only ordinary; mediocre. Life belongs to the rare, exceptional individual who dares to be different.

Life is like that - twenty minutes of misery for every two seconds of joy.

There is no hate such as that born out of love betrayed- and my brain screamed out for revenge.

Unless i'm reading an assignment or doing a paper or taking a test, i'm thinking about you.

I wish the night would end, I wish the day'd begin, I wish it would rain or snow, or the wind would blow, or the grass would grow, I wish I had yesterday, I wish there were games to play.

Dreams, I thought. They're the riches of a poor person, stashed in treasure chests buried deeply in the imagination. But are dreams enough?