I haven't really had anything much to say...until now. First, I'm sorry that I'm boring. I'm sorry that I am the most unentertaining piece of work in the gallery. Second, I'm sorry that I allowed myself to be exploited. I'm sorry that I just don't mean more. But I'm tired of being everyone's fucking "backup friend". Maybe that's a good thing, that I'm always here, or maybe it's just a pushover quality that I possess that I need to rid myself of. Third, I'm trying, I'm really, really trying to be a decent person. I'm just tired of being stepped on in the process.

I feel it coming, a war. There are tanks rolling down the streets, flashes of light and sounds of breaking bombs in the distance, not faint enough to be ignored. I can only watch in awe as I see this breaking out before my very own eyes. I'm waiting for it to come closer to my home. Sad thing is the war has only begun because of my actions, and now there's nothing I can do to stop it. I want to be the pedestrian in the street, the innocent person who gets shot down in the midst of greater forces. I can feel the blood pooling around my body, and in my last cry for help I scream the words I love you because I mean it. But everyone else is in too much of a hustle to get out and away. No one hears my plea.

When your heart caves in, do you know what to think? When the tears run dry and all you feel is emptiness, do you know what will fill you up again? When you're too tired to fight anything off because you've already fought the world, do you know who will fight with you?

Brandon and I sat at a beach in Chicago last night, talking for a bit. You're real. You don't hide. There were some ducks there and I wanted to take one home with me. I knew it would probably bite me if I tried. So I hurt, and quite honestly, I'd like nothing more than to go to sleep to dream about hot dogs and hamburgers, to dream about random people that I haven't seen in years, and eventually have myself become one of those random people that I have yet to see. I'd like to live in my dreams because they are fun. But they aren't real.

6:32 P.M.
Hm, so the entry in the guestbook from me...I'm guessing it's someone that knows me, but I'm not sure who it is. I have a good idea of the person, but...still unsure. Whoever it was, email me and lemmee know. I do thank you for your words. Off to a volleybally game right now, more fun to come later.