The space between perfection and despair is called nostalgia.

Sleep?

No, not yet, not right now.

It's 12:36 am as I type this, and I'm still fully dressed, and the truth is that I don't even know what I'm doing here. Like, here. In this blog. Because I don't even know if I like blogging or if I'm trying to hang on to those days when the people who came up in my reading list were my friends, and they had blogs that were beautiful and unique and then they disappeared off the face of the earth.

The point is, Becca, Lehi drama girl? Thank you. I'm glad you like this sort of thing. You can always comment, you know. That goes for all of you, because I'm still trying to figure out if you guys, the ones in the corner with the tiny icons, actually exist, and if it even matters to you that I create something you might like to read.

Also I'm crying. Because nostalgia hit me hard today. And it hit fast, like clotheslined me, train to the stomach, I don't think I'll ever find Avery and Kyle and Matt and a cardboard-cut-out Kaitlyn in my bed in December ever again. I've never hated the way we're rolling with the punches so much, just keeping secrets now because that's what people who don't watch fireworks together on New Years Eve together do. I feel like putting my fist through a wall over that. No one calls me because the phone doesn't ring. I'm not blaming anyone. 

And Benjamin -- I just had this vision of Benjamin today when I was standing in that foreign auditorium and I knew exactly what it would be like if he'd been standing there next to me: Someone would've called him the best actor they'd ever seen and he wouldn't have known how to take that and then he probably would've picked me up and paraded me around like I was the best thing that ever happened to him, because, in a way, we were the best thing that ever happened to each other. You guys, me and Ben? We literally wrote the same stories sometimes without even knowing it. We would've made up a stupid song together. We would've rolled our eyes at how generally annoying and weird theater people are en masse, loving ourselves a little too much, but feeling okay about it, because deep down we love you, too.

Train to the stomach.

Hailey James is the most incredible person I've ever met.

Train to the stomach.

My uncle died on Monday. We visited him for the first time in months on Sunday afternoon. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I was in the right place at the right time. For once.

Train to the stomach.

I went to the film festival. The writer shook my hand and told me I could be him when I grew up.

All I think about these days is the future, and that's a train to the stomach.

There are people in my bed because we're going to the funeral on Saturday. Funerals are for the living, though that does not make them any more or less beautiful and sad and imperative.

And yes, Ross Lee, I think you're very handsome, which I figured I would bring up someday, but apparently Kaden beat me to the chase. If you're reading this, I admire you from afar and would you like to hang out sometime.

Aubrey (Audrey). Cody.

I think it's time I dealt with the fact of waking up tomorrow (today).

Goodnight, I guess.

I'm sorry about this one.

Macbeth 2:2
All my love,
Addy