I want to talk somewhere and have an audience. I want to know people. I want to have friends.

Do I?

You some of you read this.

I don’t know how to interact yet.

For one, there’s language barriers.

So that’s annoying.

Some of you are French.

Sorry. No one’s fault.

It’s kind of cool to have French friends, though.

It’s so weird, I write poetry and I haven’t made any friends through it.

I wonder if CJ is dead. If he finally killed himself.

It was really an ingrained idea in his head, that it was the only way out. You could tell by the way he talked about it. So casually. “Got the blade in wide enough but not deep enough.” Such a normal thing for him.

Spooky.

I’m lonely.

Mom said she can be my friend. We’re joking around.

Sharik the stray who is sort of a house cat here now. He is indoors because of the rain mostly.

I have to keep studying, keep working.

I’m not motivated to write in here. Not at all. Not until someone checks out the thousands of posts I’ve already written and validates them.

That’s reasonable.

I have written so much.

And no one cares.

Fuck you.

Fuck.

So lonely.

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