I'm an angry, cynical 18 year old girl. You can read back on this journal and see how wonderfully naive and innocent I was. You can 'ooh' and 'aah' over it, and think how cute I am. I am not cute. I have nails. I grew up, but I kept this because it is my past, and I cannot keep running. Once all was well, but that was once upon a time.
By the way: Don't touch me. I don't need a reason, just don't.