All four years of high school are comprised of spending time with people you convince yourself you like, doing things that you fool yourself into thinking you enjoy. And loneliness- this crippling loneliness that is more suffocating than being in a room full of people. And we tell ourselves that we need these people to get us by, that being alone is inconceivable. Everybody seems to find their place. It starts somewhere around middle school, maybe. These groups that morph and twist into something that resembles friendship. And I have tried. I fucking swear that I have tried. I’ve morphed, and I’ve twisted, and I’ve blended and squeezed and tucked myself into so many different boxes that I forgot what the sky looked like. But I was always the wrong shape. And somewhere along the endless wave that is this senior year, half of me has started to wonder if anyone really fits. If everyone just found these holes and burrowed down, head first, eyes packed with sand. Everyone stopped looking at the people that weren’t in their direct line of vision. And somehow, I became the person that was always in the peripheral. The afterthought, the footnote. The third or fourth on the list, the stray who was always afoot but never taken in. You convince yourself that it’s not you. That the people surrounding you just aren’t the right people, you’ll find the right group eventually. But after a few years, and a few groups, and a few dozen friday nights alone, you realize that it can’t really be everyone else, can it?