10 March '98
what is this? i clasp my hands together. fingers to palms touching. am i praying? the girl sitting next to me stares. she can't get her mouth to open, but her clear blue eyes ask me all the questions she needs to ask. she looks at me like i know something she doesn't. god. go away. this was wrong. wrong. i don't think she knew the meaning of hate, but i asked her anyway. you do. i can feel it even through the glass. the only times you lie are the times we ask for the truth. otherwise you're blatant and brutal with your "truth." i don't want to spend the rest of my life hiding from your ghost. but you're wrong. and that hurt.
i'm drowning! drowning in the pattern of this girl's dress.