No," I say. "I didn't know that," and as I say it I feel flooded with bitterness at all the things Ingrid kept secret from me.
That's what friends do: they notice things. They're there for each other. They see what parents don't.
Dear today,i spend all of you pretending i'm okay when i'm not, pretending i'm happy when i'm not, pretending about everything to everyone.
And all of the things that she sent him were things he already owned. And all of the letters she wrote him were letters he wrote to himself.You write a letter, you get a letter.
I sleep through the next day. Each time I go to the bathroom, I try not to look in the mirror. Once, I catch my reflection: it looks like I’ve been punched in both eyes.I can’t talk about the day that follows that.
There used to be days that I thought I was okay, or at least that I was going to be. We'd be hanging out somewhere and everything would just fit right and I would think 'it will be okay if it can just be like this forever' but of course nothing can ever s
I don't want to hurt you or anybody so please forget about me. Just try. Find yourself a better friend.
