Outside on thanksgiving, in my grandparents back yard. I’m almost half as tall as the tree that once towered over me. I’m more comfortable here than I am inside. I like being alone better sometimes, when my head isn’t too loud. And I am grateful for many things. For him. For my best friend/the only girl I’ve ever loved. For my cat. For the cool windy air. For stolen, secret lunch-break kisses, and flirting with people I’ll never have. that the band that’s always been a part of me, might now actually work out someday. For my cousin. For the bands on the radio that got me this far. That I can express how I feel, even if it’s only in what I write. For all my friends, the people I know I can count on. That he’s still alive. I think the thing I’m most grateful for is that I’m still alive to experience the rare good things in my life. I held on long enough for that. And it would be a tragedy if I had died before finally being happy. Goodnight, I guess. (For once I think I mean that.)