So. I have a reader.
Just one, solitary mind out there
receiving my thoughts and yet...
it matters.

I won't tell you who it is.
Because the person would not forgive me should
I do so.

Person, if you're out there, reading this lonely old post,
I'm sorry.
That I don't talk to you about the things that I should talk to you about.
And that I brought up the fact that you cried oh-so many times.
But I wasn't doing it to make fun of you, honest.
I was wondering why you wouldn't admit it.
And as to why I don't talk,
well.
That's not a mystery.
I was practically raised to say 'I'm fine' when I wasn't.
Talking isn't a large part in my family,
despite what you would think.
I think my mom regrets that, and wishes it were otherwise.

I was told earlier my blog is sad.
Which...is hard for me to grasp.
Or...understand.
Whatever.
It's hard.
To me, all this is is thoughts.
Thoughts to put down and forget about.
Thoughts that I let out so that I wouldn't burst.
When I read the words, all I see is the familiarity.
Perhaps it is sad.
Maybe I need more help then I once thought.


I have a headache.
And I finished 'Lock and Key' by Sarah Dessen.
It was good, but not as good as Just Listen.
I just...don't identify with any of the characters like how
I identified with Owen and..and god. Wow. I've forgotten the chick's name.
Annabel.

Owen for the music. Annabel for the catastrophe-like family life.
That book had meaning. This book...
was just a time-filler for me, to be honest.
I almost cried. When Nate left Ruby.
Just because I've become a sap for the sort of thing by reading the private novels.

I have a headache.
And sleep beckons,
so I shall go.
Good night.