Here is something that I started to write last night at Erika's house. It's not done, and I don't think that I will complete it anywyas. It's a little sad, and I don't feel like being sad. Anyways, read on:

Please stop looking at me with those eyes

I know what they are thinking of me

This isn't who we are suppose to be

We are more than this...I thought that we were more than this

Let us work to make it through

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Thank you for being who you are. Thank you for trying to watch out for me. Please keep it up, but we need to talk. I know that you want what is best for me. I undertsand that, and I love that about you. -------------------------

Please Don't Kill the Freshman : A Memoir

by Zoe Trope

Book Description:

I wrote a story about you. Well, sort of, see, it's mostly about me. Well, entirely about me, but here's the catch: I'm you. No, really, I mean it. Not like that transcendentalism stuff we're learning in English class, but really, truly, I'm you. I know what it feels like when your heart beats so hard against your white bone ribs, when you sing in the shower with soap in your eyes, when you run until you get a side ache. I wrote this story about you because I am so in love with you, your broken-fence teeth and your tissue-paper scars. I love you when you're so exhausted it could topple you to the ground, so in love it could snap guitar strings, so sickly sweet it could make lips smile. This is a reckless love story. This is my shameless confession. The above is a description of what I sometimes think when I write... We will have to make time to talk soon. I have so much to say.