Entry 7

Hey Mom. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm sorry for, really. Maybe not writing to you for a while. I know it's stupid, but it's easier to pretend I'm just journaling for me. But I still think about you when I write anything. Thank you for teaching me how to write.
 
I don't know why I'm crying. Maybe it's a bit of everything. Maybe it's because they remind me of you. These idiots I'm stuck with always know what to say.
 
They want me. I don't know. Maybe they're lying. But they want me to stay with them after this contract. They actually want to be together. Like a family. No one has told me that in a long time. No one but you.
 
I don't think I should let this go. I'm scared. After all the fighting, and death, and awful shit, why am I so scared of caring about someone again? I don't know if I can do it again. But I need to. I have to.
 
I don't know if I'll ever really find out who my real parents were. But I don't know if it matters. People get stuck with me a lot. But these people are choosing me. I care about people who choose to be together, not people who are stuck with me. And as long as I'm stuck with this magic thing, I guess I should use it to help people.
 
I'm able to do good things. I didn't know I was, but I am. We've saved so many people. And I can't let that go. That has to mean something.
 
I hope I'm finally being the daughter you said I'd be. I'm trying really hard. I'm done fucking up. I want to help people. I think of you all the time, Mom. I'll do it for you.