5:54 p.m. - 1990-10-23
It is Monday, January 29, 2001, 11:35 p.m. Yesterday was wonderful; today was ok. I woke up. I left and went to work, I went home, I didn't do my homework. I did everything I usually do on a usual Monday. My friend is dead.
"hi, what's up?"
"...are...how are you feeling?"
The first thing that went in my mind was a December night; she wore beautiful contacts.
She was so perfect. Her most perfect aspect was that she knew she wasn't perfect.
I hurt. I am tired. I hate. I am weary.
If only I knew that that was her greatest fault.