I'm laying in a room that used to be mine in a bed with new sheets and a new ceiling fan over my head in a house that used to be home. I can't call it home anymore because the people that are here don't seem capable of love. I miss my old room.

It's alright to be afraid. I worry everyday. I'm so unsure of everything. I'm a skeptic, a hypochondriac and I'm anxious. I don't know where I'm going or what I want out of life specifically. At the end of the day, I just want my favorite person to be right next to me. That's what I think I'll always want. I just want Richard, my best friend, my beach buddy, my first and my favorite.