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"I'm really not that different, you just made me think so."

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mood: morose
now playing: mad world
vocabulary: justice

My yesterdays....

• Que paso? - 2006-09-10

No human in sight except through the mini-blinds of my window. Humans hurting even more than I. So I talk to an empty screen.

The last time I wrote about him in my diary, it was with a pen in a little diary with a lock and key. I wrote about the cute kid across the street and how nice he was. I wrote about how we took walks late at night and I felt I made a connection. I wrote about how the prep Chrissy didn't think he was cute but I thought he was just right.

I drove him to school. He always knew when I was sick because I would get up early and take him to school anyway then drive home. One day he made me this tea that he said his mom made him and it made him all better. I told him I hate tea but he made me drink it. He let me keep the cup, a teletubbies cup with a sipper. So I went to the cupboard to stare at it. I guess I just want to torture myself, remind me how great he really was.

I remember buying him cigarettes. I remember hanging out at Cooper's house.

I feel sick.

One second I am deciding on mac n cheese or pizza and the next minute, screaming at walls that can't hear me.

My first thought went to Cooper and Trey and Craig and having just watched Donnie Darko I saw his family. The baby of the family and the only son. His mom is so cool. His sisters are so nice. It's just not right. And I can't turn back time.

I remember when Mike died. I knew him, vaguely, it hurt enough. This..isn't supposed to happen. Not someone whose window I would go to at midnight and poke my head against the screen. I don't want to think that if I tap on his window, he's not going to groggily answer.

We never watched Pulp Fiction. It was our running joke. "Hey, we'll have to watch Pulp Fiction sometime." We never did. We never will.

I want to keep pretending it's not real.