The truth is...

the truth is, I am not a very good friend.

Or person.

I pretend to be. Try to be even. But I find words falling out of my mouth that I know are better left to suffocate. Smolder and die, but still i do it, regardless of how wrong or bad i know it to be. maybe its masochism or is it sadism? i'm too lazy to look them up right now.

anyway, here's a story.

Cosette wasn't really sure she was the kind of girl everyone thought she was. She had this constant nagging feeling somewhere in the back of her brain, one that was always urging her to improve herself. It was like she could never except the person she truly was and because of that, she spent the majority of her time trying to figure out who she was.

Things had been getting crazy for Cosette and it had happened so fast that her head was still spinning. One minute she had been on the top of the world, gaining everything. Now...now she didn't know what to think. She didn't like the change, but she couldn't bring herself to hate it either. She had decided that adopting a comfortable indifference was better than having any strong feelings towards the situation one way or the other.