January 11th, 2009.
I know that all of these things I say about school are horrid, blown out of proportion tall tales
I wish fervently were true to establish a camaraderie I know does not exist.
Perhaps I live in my own fantasy and couldn't escape for the life of me.
For every tall tale that has been told, I try to let time fool me into thinking it is true.
However, I am no idiot. Memory enslaves my lies to the banks of that space in my mind.
Deliberately, I can never forget, therefore I live in fiction.
In fictions, these things can and do happen. Camaraderie and romances exist.
This diary is existential. The unbridled truths about my existence live within
these pages, the only friend to whom I have not lied.
You, diary, are my only confidant. You hold my works, my secrets,
that which I wish terribly to be true, fiction to be real.
Only I have the power to make it so.