So I'm sitting here at school, in front of a school computer, with so many people around me, hearing their hushed conversations, looking at their fleeting shadows on the walls...
I'm sitting here and all I can think is how the hell did I wake up today still being myself. Somehow I had kid myself into hoping I might turn into something else overnight, a mouse, a mushroom, a rose... anything. I was hoping that sleep might work its own strange magic and make me forget, tear out the parasite from my breast.
But it hasn't and it never will. There is no such an easy answer.
Today as I trudge along the world thinking I don't really care about anything anymore, neither reading, neither writing, neither little school projects, I realize the only possible solution is time, a long unimaginable period of time that might extract the image from my eyes, the smell from inside my head, the feel of arms and murmur of words. Only if I think in terms of months can I live, months in the future in which this dull ache of emptiness might fade. Months where little by little these delirious happiness and this agonic sorrow might stop.
I have to go now. I really do. I don't know anymore, I don't know how I'm going to get through today.