After 2 weeks of being away from school, here I am again. And if I'm going to live through this week, I should tell you right away, it is going to be hell.

It's already eating at me and I am doing my best to pretend I'm okay. Because what's the use of feeling like nobody can fix me?

Because nobody can. I'm so broken that it's funny. Yeah, I can laugh about it. I already have. When I poured out my pain to my mom I was laughing and crying.

But it quickly turned from funny to just sad. For... a multitude of reasons. I think I'll keep the keys around my neck just to prove a point. That I can showcase my pain without anybody really caring. So... what now?

There is nothing I can do, the friendships aren't dependent on my actions. They never have been. I guess one thing worth mentioning is that I redo the sharpie on the key everyday. Just to keep it clear and legible.

And because forgetting this doesn't seem to be an option at this point. And my stubbornness in forgetting is... there. But that's always been a part of my life. So I distract myself with my work, however boring it may be.

And it's not all boring, but it is more than effective when it comes to my mental state. It's exhausting. But it works. And that is... enough?

Probably not. Ugh, nothing is making sense. I'm at a loss for once in my life. A loss of... well... what seems like everything. And for a teenager yeah, my situation does seem very "end of the world" like. But I try desperately not to overreact. But I do. And I will.

When walking through a gravesite, you forget that several feet under lies the body of a person you may or may not know.

I have a surname and plot number...

This could have been my family.

Maybe it is.
Maybe it was.

I don't feel worthy enough to sit in the grass before the tombstones.

To place my hands on the stones... they're so cold.

I've read the inscriptions.

Never forgotten by wife and son.
Faithful unto death, may he rest in peace.
A soldier of the great war.
Known unto God

Known unto God

Known unto God.

I have a surname and a plot number written in roman numerals, somebody tell me where I can find the plot under the number 30.

I ran through the gravesite only to find 29.

And I ran out of time.

So tell me where I can find him.

After all... an unknown family wrapped in a common surname is all I really know.

Here's to hoping that day 2 actually happens this time.

I'll throw up an "Amen" because I need it and because I want it.

So just...

Hear me.

Staying up late again.

And you know I can feel your eyes reading these words, looking for something.

But these late hours don't leave much to be desired in poetry.

Sorry to disappoint.

But if you have a late night memoir, I'm not opposed to some reading of my own.

But you should sleep soon.

And so should I.

If the name fits, then fine.

But if it doesn't, then what more can you really do?

As for me?

I named my sadness after I realized I've have it for so long I might as well name it.

So I named it "Hello."

No wonder I'm so bad at starting conversations.

I realized my happiness comes and goes so often that I might as well just say...

Goodbye.

And the name sticks.
At least until someone comes up to me with a "Hello" of their own.

And I will only say "Goodbye" when I know they're happy without my "Hello".