Dear Diary,
There is a person who stays with me in my room and I don’t like her. Not one bit. She sleeps longer than any human being should, not to mention in my bed. She wears these atrocious black clothes that have no sense of style or reason or purpose. She comes and goes, leaving my room whenever she pleases. I suppose the majority of the time, she likes to leave. She stares at the phone for too long, hoping it will ring. Her hair is too long and she is not attractive. The only thing that I find to be semi pleasant is the shape that dictates her lips. Whenever I see her though, it is through a reflecting surface. She can’t be me, she just can’t.