Dear ______,
I love you. Please be careful with your heart. Don't let it become the hairy heart from that Beedle the Bard story. Love, but learn to love with pure intentions. I hate what I see you doing to yourself. I want to see you happy.
Forever (kind of) in love with you,
Me

Dear _____,
You're kind of scaring me. I wish you didn't.
Confused,
Me

Dear ____,
I don't understand you. Furthermore I don't understand how I feel about you. Sometimes I want to kiss you but sometimes I want to slap you in the face.
Confused but a little in love with you,
Me

Dear ____,
I regret how little I saw you this summer. I love you. I hope we get to have many adventures this year. Let's make it count.
Love,
Your wife

Dear _____,
If I was into girls I'd marry you.
Love,
Me

Dear _____,
Calm down. Please. Go away and calm down.
Still waiting,
Me

Dear ___,
I hate you more than I've ever hated a person in my life dear lord please die.
Fantasizing about murder,
Me

Dear _____,
I truly have no idea how to react to you. Literally why. I don't know why I'm nice to you. You're cute.... But little. And also clingy. Literally. Please let go of my leg.
Kind of scared of you,
Me

Dear _____,
I like you. When you're normal.
Love,
Me

Somehow, you've forced yourself into my life.
There's so much that's strange about that.
Mostly the fact that you seem to enjoy talking to me more than most of my friends.
Mostly because I'm nearly certain the next year of my life will be some sort of Gym/work/online school-induced hell. And you're turning out to be the one person who won't contribute to that.

Now I'm thinking about this looming school year again.

Shit.

I wish it was over. I wish it could be over so I don't have to worry anymore. So I can work and make money and hopefully be accepted to a college to learn something.

Teach me how to love properly. Teach me how to feel things the way I'm supposed to. Teach me how to smile. Please.

I'm begging for enlightenment. For inspiration, for talent, for worth. I'm begging to graduate. God.

I never thought I'd need that so badly. Begging to graduate. Hoping I'm not so lazy that I end up with a GED and no prospects for my future. Hoping I get to work doing something I love. Hoping my lack of following through on my ambition doesn't fuck me over again.

Dear God,
Help me. I think this time around... I really need you. Forgive me.
Still confused,
Me.

Isn't it funny how even though I still see you most days, you're already a ghost to me?

It was a day of mistakes.

The negative connotation is a little too potent, and it sticks in your nostrils like the smell of tires burning on cement.

Exciting, nonetheless wrong.

It was a day when all I thought about (again) was how little I feel and think like I used to. When rather than imagining and philosophizing I imagine that I still have an imagination.

An oxymoron.

The Day of Mistakes is never just a single day. It is a single day in that there are 24 hours with the potential to mess up.

I know better than anyone that we all have months of these Days in our memories, stapled together and sent to the Department of Edification and Humiliation.

And so I say again: it was a day of mistakes.

Mistake is synonymous with regret and regret is indeed a nasty word. And yet we are constantly reminded, "We all make mistakes and we learn and grow from them."

Do I regret my mistakes? Like everyone, yes and no. When I think of mistakes I think of a little girl wearing a jacket that didn't belong to her and said, "San Francisco" on it who almost believed that if she wished hard enough she could go back in time and make another choice.

I think of myself (how narcissistic of me) and how I still read too much fantasy not to half-believe that time travel exists.

It         was           a           day             of          mistakes.

A day where I didn't feel enough, didn't learn enough, didn't love enough, didn't empathize enough, didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't didn't

didn't.

There was a day
when you held me.
When you let me hold you and
neither of us spoke
because it was
comfortable
and there was no
need to.

We didn't talk
about the kiss afterward.
We ignored it,
but that was okay.

There was a time
when I was certain
you loved me...
In some way,
because you gave me
your hands and I let you.

The words
I love you
were always unspoken
in the air.
something was always
wrong
with those words
and us.

The meaning was
lost in translation
I think.