Words. I've written so many words that I don't know if I have any more. I am empty, there is nothing left in there. It's like shaking a box of raisins to get out the last little brown lump that is stuck in one of the corners. Sometimes I get half a sentence out, sometimes nothing. What I'm trying to do with this diary I'm not really sure.
I sent a letter to Japan yesterday, a letter with a hedgehog drawing, lemon candy, and a story only for him. I didn't cry when I wrote it, I didn't feel my inside turn.
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