I can't stop thinking about sad people, sitting in empty houses, looking at bright screens.
In the seventh grade there was a girl, she sat two rows to the right and three chairs back. She was loved, but you could tell she didn't know it. Her father was an addict, leaving marks from glass bottles on the window frames she used to climb out of. Her mother was lonely, and breaking every day. she may not have felt the love from her mother or her father, she shouldn't felt it from me. I loved that girl to pieces a million times over again. I wanted to put the pieces of her messy life back together, hoping someday she'd do the same for me. She became my best friend. I feel like i helped put the pieces back together, and i still don't think she knows how many pieces of mine she's picked up and put back together.