A Week Went By And Nothing. But

You Told Me I Wrote That Poem Because I Was Afraid Of Dealing With Myself. And I Used My Mom As An Excuse, Accusing Her Of Not Appreciating Or Accepting Me, When I Should Have Been Saying Those Words Into A Mirror.

I Wanted People To Trust Me, Despite Anything They'd Heard. And More Than That, I Wanted Them To Know Me. Not The Stuff They Thought They Knew About Me. No, The Real Me. I Wanted Them To Get Past The Rumors. To See Beyond The Relationships I Once Had, Or Maybe Still Had But That They Didn't Agree With.

No One Knows For Certain How Much Impact They Have On The Lives Of Other People. Oftentimes, We Have No Clue. Yet We Push It Just The Same.

A Lot Of You Cared, Just Not Enough.

And It Feels Strange, Almost Sad, To Walk Through Ther Empty Halls. Each Step I Take Sounds So Lonely.