fastfoward 6 months -- only because you are too lazy to recount your inbetween (right now ( Read more... )

fastforward 3 weeks. acquintances are now friends ( Read more... )

sit in the library. hate the library. hate the sterile, cold, conformist library. stare at your algebra text book. hate numbers. numbers are nonsense - pish posh, rick rack, beep bop. hate numbers. feel alone. feel empty. sigh. you want to scream. you want to hurl each number like a blade accross the room and laugh as flesh slices. laugh. a boy ( Read more... )

see him strolling the west lawn; his figure tall, his posture pretentious, his eyes locked away in dirty blonde sweeps. his left hand holds a filtered camel, his right an open book -- feel intrigued as he turns each page. divert your attention to someone calling your name, foget him ( Read more... )

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My thoughts keep returning to one person. Everything seems to surround him these days. and for some reason, now more than anything I am hurting with everything that happened. I messed up, entirely; I faulted. I took all feeling for granted, I acted too impulsively, logic and reason directed me and I failed to credit the emotions that mattered most ( Read more... )

As I sit up in my rigid hardwood desk I feel as if I have been swallowed up in a sea of jaded faces. Not surprisingly, this classroom is just like any other; rows of obstinate desks face toward the sullen chalk smeared, everest-green wall that is the front of the room. Why do I feel as if I’m spending the prime of my youth wasting away in a series ( Read more... )

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Why is Kento ferociously angry with me in every single dream I have of him?

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