twenty-seven august
eleven : thirty-five p.m.

i miss her so much. i was really hoping that, when i got online, there'd be an email from her, and it'd be silly and happy and full of tales about italy and family and travel and beauty.

there wasn't one, though. that isn't her fault.

nothing happens the right way anymore. nothing happens the way it should, let alone the way i want it to.

i'm sorry. i miss everyone so much.