no. nothing's okay. no. i don't want to talk about it...go away
written @ 8:39 p.m. on February 12, 2004

I'm not fucking sorry. I'm tired of seeing you act like that every single time I go to your house. Yeah, I did mention the fact that you never have me over for dinner anymore a lot...sorry if you seen to daze out whenever I say something and it seems as though nothing gets registered. I'm just tired of wondering why you never seen to want me at your house anymore. The fact that I embarassed you in front of everyone else, I'm sorry but I just don't give a damn. You were being an ass, everyone else saw it too. I was just the only one actually coming out and saying it.

I sat at the end of the driveway hoping you'd come down. Maybe I do that too much, wait for you to come to me, but whatever. I was upset about you never inviting me for dinner, about acting weird since pep rally then making it seem like I'm pulling all of this out of nowhere (btw, if I had sat at the bench and waited for you to walk to my class you'd be pissed, so remember that when I tell you my backpack was heavy...since I'm the one who tells you to use your locker more anyways.)

Do I look pretty today? I tried to for you. Did you notice?

I'm gonna go cry now. Don't call, don't fucking bother.

then|now

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