Sitting in kristins pitch black room, staring at a ceiling that could possibly be the floor for all I know. Depressing music fills my ears and depressing thoughts cloud my mind.
Nobody even knows that I keep this blog. Except for Santiago, and I won't tell him the URL. I wish someone else would read it.
They'd find it if i killed myself. And they'd feel bad I'm sure, for not knowing, not paying close enough attention. My mom yells at me and says I'm 'pouting' when I feel like crap. Nice mom, real nice.
I'll just pretend like everything is okay, when really nothing is okay.
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