It's funny how you can be around the most people and still feel alone.

I'm sorry, but should I feel bad that when I glance at my friends page on livejournal I really don't care? I guess it's not enough to not care about myself but to care about others, whoa, now that's a stretch I can't make.

I've been writing a lot of poetry in my composition notebook recently. Nothing good enough to in-delve anyone with but this time, they're more personal. It's like I'm actually writing to get things off my mind this time, and it's all alright, right?

I talked to my friend Angela today. I figured that when I go to see her that I shouldn't plan on having "deep and meaningful" conversations cause I'll jinx myself and end up saying nothing. So I think about nothing and everything happens. I wish I could've stayed longer though. There's only so many people I can truly open up to.

I'm sorry, I just realized that I keep typing in here like I'm actually talking to someone. I guess I just contradicted myself, since I just apologized to myself. But then wouldn't that make what I'm typing now useless? Since if I'm talking to myself, I already knew what I meant -- therefor not needing an explanation. Okay, enough.

So many things are falling apart. Too many things to notice. Far fewer than the ones I forgot. And I can't stop staring.

xxxx