Picture this:

Hannah sitting at home in an oversized boys' t-shirt and old, baggy school trackpants. No, not sitting, crawling on all-fours across her bedroom floor like a ferret excessively interested in DVDs (the ones she's arranging and searching through). She decides to look up a vegan brownie recipe online and pulls out a piece of paper. Needing something to lean on, she finds a small notebook in one of the many wooden tables/dressers/desks she has cluttering her room. Finishes writing out the recipe and flicks open the cover of said notebook. Finds three pieces of writing from two years ago. Gets on her laptop to post one online.


I've watched you mourn the loss of your best friend for two years. I've only begun to mourn the loss of mine, and you won't even notice until I am so torn at the seams that I stop being your cushion against the blows the world gives you. It's just the same truth I relearn all the time; no one catches me when I'm falling. It's when the crack of me hitting the ground wakes them up that they realise they need to scrape me off the pavement and rebuild me. But they settle for superglue and awkward smiles instead.


And there you have the early part of my Saturday evening. Emo, innit?