  I have had an amazingly introspective, deliciously angsty night. My brother, who is older than me and therefore wiser in a way I will never understand, drove me downtown. It was raining in the sort of way that you might forget it is raining if you aren't looking hard enough. The raindrops stuck to the Subaru, too beautiful and important to slide off. They blurred the painful lights of the wannabe city.
It was one of those rare times that I didn't mind that the Repeat button was stuck and that the same song kept singing to me. I listen to the same songs over and over again, anyways. I like to know songs. I like to understand them. Sometimes I can forget or not listen hard enough and I will find out that there is something I missed.
I felt infinite, because a book told me I was. I just pretty much thought about why I am. I thought about all my friends and the ones I've lost. Which is weird because then I came home and Meghan called. And this only made me sadder because we have nothing to talk about anymore. I was too tired to pretend to understand her, because I don't, just like she doesn't understand me.
What ever happened to the times when listening to the Top 40 and playing with our dolls (even though we knew we were too old to) sufficed as a best friendship? And then I sort of crawled into a teeny corner of depression where I felt sad and lonely and detached. But it was strange because I felt like this was all so eventual, so long-time-coming. I felt hapless and hopeful and nostalgic for listening to Backstreet Boys in agreement and watching Zoog Disney. And I cried a little, and then felt dumb for crying, so I cried some more. Affectionately... Anna 
