Wake up Monday morning
2. Wake up Tuesday morning
3. Wake up Wednesday morning
4. Wake up Thursday morning
5. Wake up Friday morning
Because my hope for the future is that I continue to have the will to get up.
Else let me sleep eternally.

His hand was in mine,
and mine in his.
His eyes were on mine,
and mine on his.
With every grip my body tensed.
My heart floating and my feet barely touching the ground.
We were smiling,
maybe even laughing.
It was the happiest I have felt
in a really, really long time.
Then I woke up, shaking,
and immediately tried to return to my happiness.

I don't remember the last time I've cried.
I remember many times lying in bed
wishing I could cry.
If I could only cry,
I could prove to myself I'm still human.

He has me in his clutches.
I am a puppet under his orchestration.
He controls every move, every breath, every plan, every everything.
I am not myself, only an extension of his will.
And I love it, because being in his clutches is the closest I will ever get to him.

I want to touch him.
I want to feel him.
Even just a hug.
It is a hunger I have never felt before.
An irresistible desire to be close to him.

I don't know what to do.
I don't know who to talk to.
I just want to feel him.
I want to be close,
closer than I have ever been with anyone.

And I don't know why.
Come to think of it, I know so little about him.
I pretend I know him,
but I don't.
But I want to.
But I need to.

Love is a mixture of
compassion and lust.
I care about him,
and I want to **** his ******* brain out.
I want to do so much for him and to him.
Because I am compassionate for him.
Because I lust for him.
Because I love him.

I'm not dead
because I care what people will think of me,
even after I'm gone.

He gave me his pencil today.
Mr. *** probably thinks I cheated and looked off of someone's paper on my way up.
But I didn't.
I forgot to answer one.
I asked to borrow a pencil.
Mr. *** looked around but couldn't find one.
So he stopped working (I know right, believe it or not).
He never stops working.
But he let me use his pencil.
I said "thank you"
The only words I've said to him
this week.
Two words.
He let me borrow his pencil,
and it made my day.
For a moment I felt happy.
If only I could feel that way all the time.

**** my life.
I'm way too shy and antisocial for this ****.

I wish he saw me as more than just an ***.
But I can't blame him.
I don't see much else in myself either.
I see so much in him.
And I know I'm selfish,
but I'm jealous of all that he is,
and I know he could make me a better person.

He still says hi to me with pity,
like he wants to make sure I'm okay.
To see if it's okay for him to talk to me.
I understand.
I might seem upset or jealous.
Maybe it's because I am...
No it's not because of that,
he got that because he is
compassionate, empathetic, outgoing,
funny, sweet, and loved.
That's why I'm jealous.
I want his attitude, I want his outlook on life.
He's optimistic.
While I have a stick shoved so far up my *** I can't seem to hold onto friends for longer than a school year.
**** life.

I can't have any slip ups.
One slip up,
one momentary lapse of judgement,
one word that deep down I wish I could say,
but deeper down I know I shouldn't.
And it's over
My credibility, my reputation, my stability,
my sanity.
They will all be gone.
And no matter how much my heart lies, I must believe my brain.
It wouldn't be worth it.

It's weird to think that all people look up and see the same sun.
We billions of human beings are connected in the simplest of ways.
It also reminds me of how small I am.
I may know hundreds of names,
maybe a thousand.
Even with those thousand names, I consider myself personally connected with maybe 100.
Only 100 names.
And yet every morning,
Whenever morning may be for any name on the planet.
We all look at the same star.
To even think about how many names I share this star with...
Remarkable.