And In That Moment, I Swear We

It's Strange Because Sometimes, I Read A Book, And I Think I Am The People In The Book.

I Just Hope I Remember To Tell My Kids That They Are As Happy As I Look In My Old Photographs. And I Hope That They Believe Me.

I Just Wish That God Or My Parents Or Sam Or My Sister Or Someone Would Just Tell Me What's Wrong With Me. Just Tell Me How To Be Different In A Way That Makes Sense. To Make This All Go Away.

I Think The Idea Is That Every Person Has To Live For His Or Her Own Life And Then Make The Choice To Share It With Other People. Maybe That Is What Makes People "participate.

I Walk Around The School Hallways And Look At The People. I Look At The Teachers And Wonder Why They're Here. If They Like Their Jobs. Or Us. And I Wonder How Smart They Were When They Were Fifteen. Not In A Mean Way. In A Curious Way. It's Like Looking At All The Students And Wondering Who's Had Their Heart Broken That Day, And How They Are Able To Cope With Having Three Quizzes And A Book Report Due On Top Of That. Or Wondering Who Did The Heart Breaking. And Wondering Why.