I sit here alone on the couch. Newspapers and books clutter the coffee table and floor. The only sound heard is the low droning of a hip-hop video on TV; there is some guy rapping about drinking and freaking it as a bunch of half-naked women with perfectly shaped bodies dance around him. I remember when I was trying on a shirt at the mall one time. My mom's friend looked at me for a while and said something about how I should "stop eating cake". She was a very skinny woman with a very skinny daughter. I think these people want me to feel bad about being a size seven. I guess I miss out on joining all the "cool people" in the "Size 0-3 Club". Fuck that. I quickly turn the television off.

The silence that has become so familiar with me returns. I put a CD into the stereo. I sit here, slightly exhausted from daydreaming and entering the alternate world, where things go pretty well. And when I fall from it I wonder what the fuck is wrong. I spend a little too much time in this other world when I am by myself. Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I could die with minimal pain and really live in this other world. It's not a heaven; it's just like this world except I'm not all alone. I could be someone's "punk rock princess". And that person could be my "garage band king". I could tell him why "I just don't fit in".

These are one of the few things I have that still keeps me going. I keep thinking that someday maybe all of this will come true and replace reality and I won't have to kill myself to get there. Like a real fairy tale. This life has broken my heart many times before and I simply can't invest all of my trust in anything. It seems like everyone has someone/something better to go to, and they can just leave me for that person/thing. And even when I try to open up, it just seems like it doesn't completely get through and wrong impressions are made. After secrets are shared, phones are hung up, and laughs end, they really don't care or really aren't concerned deep down.

Thirty minutes pass and I lie on the couch, head down, staring at the cloudy sky and chipping the black polish on my nails. I should be doing other things right now; things that will benefit my future. But right now I just want to keep sitting here by myself and listen to the music. I try to reach for a hand to share this with, but I only grasp onto air.

The heater is on but it is still cold. My hair is in a tangled mess. My eyeliner is smeared from rubbing my eyes. I try to remember those kind words a stranger told me once. I try to remember them in ink so they cannot be changed. Because after all materials fade, the money is spent, the work finished, all you have left with are words. And whether I live or die, I'm going to try to be remembered and one day be a special somebody.