Friday, 20th.

It's hard. Coping. You never know how much you'll miss them. You take them for granted while they're there. You miss them like hell when they've gone. You hope they'll come back. That they will walk through the door with that smile on their face and say that it's alright, and that it wasn't real. That it was fake. That things are back to normal, without the hurt and pain, and especiallywithout the tears and the sleepless nights.

They make stories of it. They aren't the truth. They twist it to their own satisfaction. Making sure they get the responce they want. I'm here to tell you that it isn't the truth. He died to save us, to save take it for granted each day. He was a special person with a special mind, and he died for the right reasons.

I've been told that writing a blog helps. It didn't help in the past and it isn't really helping now. I don't know why I'm writing this. I suppose it helps get emotions out, but that makes me feel worse. Everyone's saying I should move and carry on, but I can't. And if I ever can, it's going to be years to get back to life.

I'll sign off now, to try and get some sleep. Another nightmare will leave me awake, then I'll be left laying, thinking. Just like every other day.

John.


I konw it wasn't very long, but I didn't want to use up all my ideas on the first chapter. They will stay this length. Sorry. Xxx