So apparently Will decided it would be a great idea to go to my house and steal my diary, so not only did he read all the stuff I wrote about Eleanor and about him, he also saw a good amount of stuff that any teen girl would be extremely embarrassed for her older brother to read. And then he starting reading chunks of it to me, asking why, why did I throw all of that away? I wanted to scream at him. Don't you think I hate myself just as much for throwing it away? And why do you care? You hate me, remember? Why does any of it matter to you? I can't reverse what's already happened. My memories of Eleanor are starting to come back. I wonder if hers are too. I'm not going to be like my dad. Either of them. Those people who keep looking backwards. Wasting their lives regretting the past, mourning how things could have been different. I'm not going to spend forever wishing for things that won't happen. I'll have to move on, eventually. I'm only fifteen after all. Who has their life figured out at fifteen? Not me, that's for sure.
