I decided not to rip anymore pages out of this.
I hate: my freckles, my red face at extreme temperatures, my hips, my chin. I hate when people don't look me in my eyes. When they're not looking at me in the eyes, they're looking at all of the things I don't want them to look at. Eyes speak more than mouths.
I saw him again today. I wonder if he remembers me. I'm pretty sure he does. Every time I look at him, I see his dad. I see myself walking into the church that day and hugging him and saying, "I'm so sorry." And Rachel. I tried to hold it together for her. As soon as I hugged her, I lost it. She told me that it was okay. She said, "I just have no more tears left to cry."
I'm going to die during the winter. It could be next month or in 60 years, but when I die, it will be in the winter.
Brain spill. I found him for her. How fucking great is that. Don't they know this is a really bad idea?
"You know that's the only reason that it didn't work out, right?" Yeah, you're right.
I kind of want to punch him in the face.
Why can't I cook anything? Everything I make, even when I follow the recipe exactly, turns out fucking shitty. Or just mediocre. What a waste.