I glanced at a piece of rose that Jr. gave me a week ago and to this day is still placed in the glass. It is so withered that if you touch it, almost its leaf or petal will fall off because it is too dry. I just gasped because of what happened. This is the first time there has been a lasting flower in my room that hasn’t tasted my wrath. And take note it's coming from a man.

I don’t know but this time I’m sure I have weird feelings for Jr. A feelings that I have never experienced but I often read. Those feelings are often written...