When you're more sick than you let on people don't expect you to crumple into a ball, choking on nothing, gasping for the precious air we take for granted. Sometimes death just likes to stare at me from across the room. Forcing the air out of my lungs causing every breath to feel like glue.  I've gotten very acquainted with death. The thought of death has become my home when my real home killed me inside. Things have changed though my dearest, Death. I have made a home within these new walls. I am at home with these new people that care about me more then "life long friends" ever did. When I started coughing I heard how scared you sounded. It finally hit me how much you cared. I made a silent vow to get better because for the first time in forever I had someone who would miss me when I was gone. I suddenly had a whole crowd of concerned friends who only wanted me to heal. I look at these people I live with and realize that no matter how lonely I feel I will never have to suffer alone. I might come from a broken home but I finally found a place where I belong.