Rosalie Turner, Diary Entry 2:

“Your name is a sort of background noise to my mind. Something that I am always hearing… paying attention to, even when I’m not thinking about you. Your name is always floating around in the back of my mind. I mean, I can’t necessarily tell you that, it would be far more traumatizing for you to figure out how I truly felt about you then to play it off and wait for you to tell me first. I’m tired of trying, I’m tired of wasting my time putting effort into a hopeless case. I’m tired of the way you make me feel. I’m tired of caring.” 

Slowly though, it feels as though my soul is dying with anticipation and anxiety. Each moment that I spend hearing your name, seeing your face, a piece of me dies. I want you to know, but I fear the rejection that will follow.”

This is the type of thing I wish I could talk to other people about. Even if its not him, you know? This is what I want to talk about with my friends, ask for advise, laugh, cry… maybe even relate through my ups and downs. But of course I’m stuck here. In this place of isolation battling no one but myself, my feelings. I cannot blame anyone, for I am choosing this isolation as a time for me to collect myself and reflect.