(no subject)
no one goes on livejournal. because everyone loves xanga. except the school doesn't love xanga. they hate it. so i'm fucking sitting here with nothing to do and good ole' mr. crosby that doesn't know how to fucking teach. eh... i stare at the prom magazine every other weekday. and there's this boy with long hair. a perfect smile. eyes that melt. and i wonder... i wonder when he dies, who will care? i won't. i won't even know him. yet i look at him almost every day. i look at him and he's never looked at me. he doesn't know my name, i don't know his. but somehow we have this connection. i think it's because we both hate being kept in this room. it's so boring.
and i don't know how to make my journal pretty. which i guess is okay because i'm not pretty myself.
and i don't know how to make my journal pretty. which i guess is okay because i'm not pretty myself.