• I think I’ve hit an all-time low. My chest hurts, like I’m aching for something. Love? . . . How strange. A word I’ve never fully learned how to pronounce, but still keep wondering about. My thoughts seem to race around behind my eyes, so far away that catching anything with my net woven of children’s dreams seems impossible. I’m trying to write. Trying to breathe. Trying to forget that my emotions – at the moment – are the shittiest rollercoaster I’ve ever been on. I’m terrified of rollercoaster’s. The way they creak and stop and pull and drop you into a never ending tunnel. The channel is softened only by the terrified screams of the people around you, the cries that remind you that you’re not alone. The back of my legs ache, too. It’s like I’m going into withdrawal. But how can you abandon something when you were never even fully submerged? It seems like I’ve been looking at the world through tented glass. Colors don’t seem as right as they used to. Maybe that’s because I’ve taken to wearing black. I need a man. One with silky black hair, skin as soft as silk, and the color of how I fix coffee. Too much cream. Too much sugar. My parents drink it black. I guess it’s my secret rebellion. My ice-cream has nearly all melted. All that’s left are the little pistachio pieces, floating like little life boats. I drain the cup, drinking and savoring each spoon-full of the sticky, creamy mess. Like heaven is at the bottom of the bowl, and I just need to find it. No. Just that stupid, happy slogan.
    “Yum yum time is . . . Over!”
    Son of a b***h. I have the sudden urge to smash the bowl, and make a mosaic out of the pieces. No. This all-time low seems allot like the others. I guess it isn’t really “all-time,” is it?