Sometimes, I ask myself why I am obsessed over rocks. Why my life revolves around them. Why I feel shy but so happy whenever a rock enters the room. I can’t lie. I just love rocks. I can’t get over those hard jagged edges which stick out of the dirt, hidden by leaves, like a secret waiting for me to find. I just can’t get enough of those rounded,grey mottled thick pulsating stones, which bask out in the open on the edges of streams, showing off their irresistible bodies to the world. Rocks are just so freakin sexy, what can I say. My friends used to say that I needed to focus on school(since I’m failing all my classes but lunch lol), that I needed to stay away from rocks. But what do they know? They’ve never felt the gentle touch of a warm boulder. Whatever, they don’t talk to me anymore. But seriously, I think my love for those sexy, unbearable thick stones is too much. Whenever I see a rock, my palms get sweaty and my books slip out of my hand, but I don’t care. I stop whatever I’m doing and rush over to the rocks, embracing them, letting myself be one with them. It’s bad. I missed my mom’s funeral because I heard about a new gravel quarry.