Alot of my friends were jealous because I could draw and paint on my walls. I don't know why, though. It was the only place I could say what I really wanted to. They all had journals and best friends and supportive families... Me? All I had were walls. But at least they never judged me. Those walls saw the depths of my soul, and portrayed it without biased opinions. These walls do talk; and they told my story. But now that it's gone... Now that my story has been painted over and erased... I don't know what I'm going to do. Three years of my life- Gone. With no record of it happening at all. They were jealous of me because I could draw on walls? How foolish. I'm the jealous one now.
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