sixteen october
eleven : forty-eight p.m.

they're all here.

"heh, she's drunk."

"no, i'm not. i'm working on it, though."

and they're all talking about it. and i feel so out of place. i wish he was here, but he is busy upstairs, and i can only talk to him through my keyboard.

"i'm always happy when i'm outside in the woods, but it doesn't seem like the cure-all. there needs to be a balance of a lot of things that i don't have or don't know where to find right now."