WARNING: THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK IS MENTALLY INSANE

It's Funny.

It's funny how we build up walls and supports higher and higher. We assemble people to help us and we trust them to help us when we need them most.

But then when our hearts are broken, we refuse to accept their help.

Instead of talking about it, we choose to stare out of the window into the dim morning twilight, staring at a fixed point and focusing on the gnawing emptiness in our stomachs and trying to pretend that we don't care.

It's funny that the people we love hurt us the most.

It's funny that we go out of our way to avoid them.

It's funny how our minds work like movies: we plan out these intricate little fantasies. Like "Oh, I'll go to the library instead of <whatever you were supposed to be doing>, and then they'll come running in here, asking why I wasn't there. Oh, and then they'll ask why I wasn't at the <event> so I'll respond with a choked, 'I didn't want to go' and then somehow miraculously they'll determine that I'm good enough for them and it'll all work out" complete with dramatic camera angles.

Of course, none of these little fantasies happen. But a small part of us clings to that hope like a drowning man to a life buoy. Then we're disappointed when the far fetched event doesn't happen and we feel foolish as hell for blowing it out of proportion.

It's funny how he didn't say anything mean to me. He didn't want to lie to me, he didn't want me to go on believing something that wasn't and would never be true.

And it's funny how in being so nice he makes me angry at him, but not at him because I could ever be angry with him. But angry at some kind of symbolism, angry at the world and the circumstances and dammit I hate this.

Isn't it funny how I'm sitting here, telling this to people I don't know and who I'll never meet?

I know. Hilarious.