It's a Friday night. I know the usual 'stereotyped' idea of a usual teenager's weekend is probably spent out of their homes, but I'm a dork. I love spending it comfortably. And the only reason I'm releasing this veil of pointless fog to those who care is because I want you to read this.
It's happening now. Even the sweet strumming from next door, the reassurance from a good friend and a look in the mirror can't cure. I don't recognize this.
Maybe one day you'll see, but I'm hoping you'll notice this sooner; because my journal can't take any more pages of your troubles.
Absence, they say, makes the heart grow fonder. But I'll never believe in such lies again. It's you, you see, that makes me realize time heals all wounds, even in-existent ones. Thank you.
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