My father is worried about me. I never knew he cared. He only seems to when I do something wrong. He thinks I'm depressed. But I'm not. I try to tell him I'm happy, but the pictures I draw of eyes bleeding out tears prove to him I'm lying.

I'm not depressed though; I'm just lonely. It seems like no one is there for me. But I'm okay as long as I have the sun's rays to pour down on me. Its warmth comforts me.

I never used to be lonely. I never used to cry myself to sleep every night. But ever since I realized that everything around me is dying, I've had a new outlook on things. I think this started when my brother left for college. He is my best friend. But now he has new friends. I do too. Now I have the moon's light at night to comfort me through my hours of restlessness. My pillow is also a comfort because it absorbs my tears.

At school I paint a smile on my face to hide my fears. I laugh and talk happily sometimes. But I really like to sit at the back of the class and watch the rest of the students participate. I draw pictures of moons, suns, and eyes on the back of my book.

My father thinks I'm depressed, but I'm not. c