Terreur, je n'ai eu pas des amis que j'adore comme j'adorais mes amis il y a trois ans.

Terreur, I have never had any friends that I love as much as those I had three years ago, before I left. At recess and lunch I stand with a group of people of whom some accept me while many of them don't, and only go to the movies in their tight-knit group.

But what's really sad? My long-term memory. The fact that I can't even remember the inside part of "The Parliament". I miss having true friends, save for the few I have gained and kept.

I wished I could have reacted bigger when I drove past you today, but when I drive, I grip the wheel very tight and my hands go white.

I stuck with you for a year and a half because I loved you, no matter what.

And now there is nothing, and I live on the hill, writing day after day and trying to maintain a blog so I can help other writers and entertain people and market my novel. And to feel that people actually like me because of who I am, what I know and what I do.

I haven't heard from Mykaelah since, but I know Brod well enough. One day Clinky asked if we could go to Fountain Gate. I said "sounds cool, I'll see when I'm available". And I never spoke to her about it again.

I got a text from Sarah once. It said she "liked" me. I probably responded with something like "okay", and never spoke of it again. Because I loved you, and I was with you, and she was your friend and I didn't want to hurt you.

Isn't it funny how the past seems to have disintegrated? Like it's so long ago that it never existed. It feels like a dream to me. It feels like a dream I had this morning, and a dream that I would have for the future. Wouldn't it be a dream to be around people you love and who love you back?

I had my dream three years ago, and now it's gone.

So I'm looking at a new dream. Not the dream of this morning, but the dream I'll have tonight. To be with someone who loves me for who I am, what I know and what I do. To do what I love, what I know, and what makes me who I am.

I might not make a living out of writing.

But writing will make a living out of me.

Because writing is my life.