I found an old piece of writing. Not sure when I wrote this.

Why?

Why are relationships burning, it is my only worry. While high school shootings happen in Boston. I am preoccupied with my own joy or sorrow. And in a crowded school, in a corner, lays a wounded girl. I have the same shirt. At the bottom of my closet, bleached out, blue, no longer soft fabric. Her future is frozen in time, while mine will bring trips to Rome and Venice.

I bite my nails. Put my arm around my sister. The clock keeps ticking, and the realization of someone else's death fades. I switch the channel to cartoons. I have a project due wednesday morning. Still need to draw a sketch. I turn on the music and start sketching.

Will my project turn out decent?