i think if i died now no one here would care. sometimes i think that no matter what i do, i’ll never be noticed. i’m not a ghost, peopel talk to me and i give them things in the hope that they’ll remember i’m here, but everyone in this room will choose anyone else over me. i know people and they know me but i’ll never ne known. I just want friends; my only friend is vaguely narcissitic and insecure and whenever she dates someone without fail i become the third wheel. Dead weight. I want to MATTER. I want my heart to burst out of my chest and cover everyone in memories of me, prove that i lived and existed and had memories. if i breathed my last breath in the lunch room, i want it stay there forever and no one can walk by without wondering about it, about me.