I don't get it. Obviously this weekend means so much to me, obviously this is why I've been so stressed and paranoid lately and of course everything I thought is happening. How can I just do what they've told me? That just doesn't work. It just doesn't, and I'd feel bad about it, it just isn't the same. I've told myself that I'm not gonna mention it till I hear something from her about it. It's hard to do that for me... I always say I won't be the first to say sorry too but like that ever happens. It's sad how much I need her in my life... sometimes I wish I could just turn off these feelings... sometimes I don't even understand why I feel them for her, other times it seems just right. It's funny how quickly I've been replaced this year. I hate how I've gone back to the stupid person with hardly any friends that she can just call up and talk to... I miss that... so much... I miss this time last year more than anything. My mom keeps talking about moving, yet I know she never actually will till I move out. I wish we could, I really do. It'd be the best thing for me, forget about her, about this place. Even if it did end up with more abuse or whatever, anything would be better than I broken heart, and not just a premit one, one that keeps breaking and then repairing with every nice word she says to me, but suddenly I see her laughing and talking nicer to them and my heart just breaks again. I can't believe I'm sitting here infront of a computer waiting for her, I even know she's been on a computer recently. Wow, I feel like a stalker but that information came from her writing something and me just going to write something there too and noticing hers.

God, I can't even count how many times I've cried tonight. I hate it. I hate how I don't even know why I'm crying. I hate how nothing's ever going to be the same. I hate my family. I hate this week. I hate this weekend and next week too. All I want is to talk... all I want is everything I'll never have. I wish my heart would stop breaking. I fucking hate that feeling. I hate the feeling of my heart sinking into my stomach. It makes me feel sick, it makes me want to throw up (not like I haven't because of it). I'm tired of the taste of tears. I hate the hope that sits inside me with excitment. I hate those repeated dreams of her kissing up my neck and her lips meeting mine. I hate them for giving me hope. I hate how she can read this and never comment on it... sometimes I even wonder if she wonders... if she just thinks nothing of it.

Why does it hurt so much that she hardly put even a little bit of an "I love you" in my yearbook?