Larkin told me that she's going insane. It's one more week till summer, and we're sitting here with the a/c drowning out lectures. Lately I've been noticing the smell of the place, and the fact you can put your hands on the wall and move it a few inches in places. It's so typical, rotting like the state of our minds. Without the cold to freeze up the walls, the place is melting down around us.

All except for the greenhouse, which is in a state of disrepair all the same. These days, the plants would be better off outside, rather than in the broken pots littering the concrete floor. It still feels like a jungle, when I can get over the yellow light and clots of spores in the air from the mold on the lead between the panels of glass.

Right now I'm wandering outside in the grass, looking for my yearbook and collecting my thoughts from over the past two years. It doesn't take long. I try to make myself cry, thinking about what I'd never see again, but it just won't feel right. If I wanted sympathy, it was only for the sake of attention.