This journal was written 12-29-98. I was just very confused about death and life.


If life is so precious and kind, and we should hold on to it so dear, then why can it be taken away from us so quickly and unexpectly? Why are there never those special moments to say goodbye? Never anytime to say the things that later will be repeating over and over in your head. Why exactly is it that the good die young and the rest are left here to suffer? Why is it we spend all our life waiting and wonking to be somebody adn by the time we find ourselves it's to late. Why is it that the guilty feel innocent, because they blame the world. Why do the innocent feel guilty because they are the world. Why do we ask why. There are never any answers, and if there is we never want to hear them.