It seems like I want my history to matter to someone. I'm always thinking in a opossite way of what I think I am. I'm always wanting different things from the ones once I thought I wanted.

It seems like I want them to know that I once had a tiny swimming pool, and I had plenty of fun with it. That once my grandma forgot to pick me up at school, and I cried because I wondered why she wasn't there. I lived in front of my school, and I actually could see the gates of my house from inside my school yard. I remember looking through the gate, waiting for her to show up, and it seemed like I was waiting for years. I don't remember her picking me up.

I want people to know those things, but I really don't, I don't know. I'm constantly looking for reasons and a sense in things, but I know they don't make sense. I know but I want them to. I don't make sense, so I think I want things around me to make some.