August 8, 2007 A bit nostalgic, while thoughts pile up in my head — random distractions scatter through the quiet. It’s late, but writing calms the hurting as I pour my heart onto paper, words stitched together for peace. Music becomes my medicine, and it plays softly through the day. A rush of happiness shoots through me with memories. What drives me now is the need — the want — to save, to repair the Integra, to learn how to drive stick shift. Work has been good; I’ve made

The lies — they had to surface, to whoever it matters. I allowed it to continue, for those who take advantage of my pain. Discomfort rises in my throat as I sit here, wishing to tell you my pain and the feelings of the situation you’ve put me in. It’s too bad — it seems we keep on fighting. Maybe it’s a sign that our love isn’t meant to continue, because miscommunication always stands in the way. I’m reaching the point of breaking down, because the fear of breaking free can’t

August 22, 2007 You hurt me. I’m already hurt. Inside, I’m crying for love. You hurt me. Words mean nothing — they’re wrong. I cry, and I’m allowing it. A reason for me to live life with no one by my side. In misery, I cry — I cry every night now. Mistakes had to happen with those involved, and still, I continue to allow you and them to hurt me.