"Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me."



I've come to realize that I can relate to books and written words more than I can my own peers. The things people make up make more sense to me.


My parents keep on telling me, "Don't lose your sense of reality." But what if it's too late? My own make believe world seems to make more sense then anything else ever has.