And the details.

I feel like every other place is a wild, haunted jungle except my room, and I don’t ever want to leave it.

I’m sorry that I only come here to grieve every other thing that I have lost. I’m sorry that I don’t come here for you. I’m sorry for not knowing you. You know, you have to understand me because I haven’t even met you and it’s sad.
For me, you are the closest thing to sadness , to the grief, to loss. Or maybe you’re not. You’re something else. Because I didn’t lose you. You are something that, if I get sad about , people will understand. They will be like, “Yeah, she has a good reason.”
And I’m kind of using you to be reasonably sad in people’s eyes.