Barry's father didn't pick him up from work. The phone rang before ending in the dial tone, asking him to leave a message. He doubted his mother could answer the phone, much less drive from the hospital to the coffee shop to the house just to head back to the hospital again. With a dejected sigh, he trudged toward the train station, completely immersed in his own thoughts.

All throughout his shift, whenever there was a free moment, he had pulled out the girl's journal. Her poetry became more frequent as the entry dates edged into February and March, not that Barry minded. Her poetry was perfectly worded in ways he hadn't thought possible and yet here they were, being read by him. It made him think about his life and all the feelings he had ever felt before. He felt like he was getting to know her, in such a short amount of time, through the words she hastily scribbled on the lines.

The train was rather empty when he got on and he noticed that he had subconsciously gotten back to the same car and same seat as the past two times he had ridden. However, the girl was not there and he had nothing better to do than tip his head back and stare at the ceiling. He was nearly asleep when the automated woman announced his stop and it jolted him, making his legs fly out and his arms dropped the journal and grip the seat. Luckily, no one was there to see it.

It was no surprise when Barry slipped in through the front door, that his father was passed out on the couch, a football game flashing across the television screen. Several empty beer bottles were strewn across the stained carpet and a cold microwave dinner was half eaten on the coffee table. It disgusted Barry that he lived in this filth everyday, his only comfort being the days outside the house when he stayed in the parks or on the train all day. It reminded him of a passage in the girl's journal.

Dear Journal,

Whenever I need space, the great outdoors seem to be the best place to go. I mean, it's like unlimited personal space, right? I can go strolling through the woods behind my house and just breath, just not care about anything anymore. Isn't it weird that I would rather not care? I don't think it is because I care too much so walking in the presence of innocent pine trees relieves me of the stress I put myself through. Everyone comes to me with their problems but whenever I need their help, they don't seem interested or I feel like I'm annoying them. I think that's why I stay away from people. Not only do they infuriate me but they also have priorities and I never seem to be in the top list of them. Well, it's late, Journal, and I've got idiots to deal with tomorrow so I'm gonna hit the pillow.

Until next time, peace out.