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It's been awhile since I started this journal, and, having realized I've yet to make a real entry into it, I've decided to make my first, for all my beloved fans across the nation and various provincial territories.

Before I get into the real meat of my entry, let me take you back a few months prior to the moment I am writing this: over 3/4 of my grade is absent this day, due to a college fair, where schools, volleying for the money of my peers, set up booths with the hopes of attracting the walking wallets, and then pouncing on them as would some great predator. Having no particular interest in college, I declined attendance in favor of a blow-off day of school; almost all the students were missing, so movie days and study halls were more common than air particles.

Well, my English teacher informed the six of us in her class that her aunt was in a very grave condition, and might not be long for the realm in which we currently reside. In hopes of building her aunt's morale, she asked us to write little notes on some cheap cards she picked up. Having nothing better to do, we accepted. It was then she suggested I write a poem, having viewed what she believes to be some raw writing talent caked within the eye crust and acne which is my current state of being.

Not having any other ideas, I accepted, and over the next 45 minutes, wrote a poem. I handed it to her without a word when the bell rang, and swaggered on to my next class.

More toward the end of the day, my friend, I believe his gaia name is Namirohkami, or something of the likes, approached me and said, "Well, if it isn't [aware_of_flaws], the famous poet!"(My name has been substituated, if only for my sheer hatred of its mediocricy.)

It was then I learned that my teacher adored the poem(I, myself, am pretty much neutral on how good or bad it was. Not that into poetry, mind you), and had read it to anyone within a three mile radius of her, if only because her superhuman speed as dulled by a nearby cache of Kryptonite, preventing her from speeding across the western hemisphere. She told me her aunt loved the poem, and she posted it by her beside, later.

Well, today I was told that her aunt passed away. And I felt pretty bad. I'm not exactly sure why. I told my teacher(as she was the one to tell me, saying she was grateful for the poem I wrote, that it really helped her out) that I was glad I could do something for the woman, which was not false. Making someone's last moments a bit more meaningful did make me feel a bit better, but she still died. I felt oddly responsible, like there was something more I could've done.

The rest of the class period I just sort of sat in silence, only chiming up to answer a question or two in class, trying to get my mind off the matter. I mean, there wasn't really anything I could've done, was there? I've told myself before that people come and people go, and that's just the way it is, but there was never a real dead person before me when I said it.

It wasn't long before I started to wish I had never written the poem, just so I wouldn't be sad at that particular point in time. If I could jump back a few hours, strangle the kid sitting in that seat. That thought was damn selfish, now that I am thinking about it, and just kind of stupid.

I really believe more than anything in the universe that in order to truly live, you've got to...well...live. You can't just go taking what little pieces of life that you want.

Well, the "meat" of my entry turned out to be the smallest part, as things turn out. That's pretty much all I have to say.