2012-05-02 / 3:29 p.m.

The show came and went. I got a wonderful reception, my website went live and I went drinking with my lecturers. I made an ass of myself on the dancefloor but it's the only way I know how. I spent an hour in the bathroom with a girl who only cares for me when she's drunk or sad, or both. She smoked while I kept watch. She breathed. I taught her to to that. I fixed two relationships and tried my best to run away from mine. My best friend stood on the sidewalk with me, shivering and breathing (she already knew how). She does this thing where she touches my face and she looks right into my eyes, it's like she's not really home, she's not really anywhere, and then she tells me to write and to paint and to take photos and to never stop being something more than average. It's like she really, really believes it. I will eventually run away with that girl, and nobody'll ever know where we are. We'll die together, eventually, after we've finished all our books. Maybe when our hearts will finally be home.