You slap me. You scream. I say you're insane. I escape upstairs. I never pretended to be grown up. Suddenly you're in my face with all these assumptions. I think I'm so cool. I think I'm so smart. But really, I am nothing but a disgusting teenager. You're yelling in my ear and my hands are shaking. I don't want you to see me cry. You cry, you're trying to make me feel bad. I don't cry because I don't want you to know that it's working. All I hear is your voice eight octaves higher than it should. It fills my ears and grates my throat. So I drown you out with no alarms and no surprises and suddenly he's killing himself for recognition and killing himself to never ever stop. I ignore you. You get tired. You go downstairs. I'm alone and he's telling me to suck my teenage thumb.

I don't know if you're sure. I don't care, I am. Sure, that is. Certain that we could make this work. You drink brandy and wear sweaters, I drink rum and coke and wear sweatpants and tube socks. You listen to the Shins and I admitted that I have a small crush on Joe Jonas. I like to dance and make sundaes. Sundaes with everything on them. You like sundaes with everything on them. You just sit there and I have no clue what you're thinking. Do you think I'm shallow? That I'm immature? I don't care. I live in my head, so I can just make you think that I'm pretty and witty. Rum and coke. Rum and coke. Goofy sweaters. Tumblers with half an inch of brandy. Music. And gingers do have souls! Have a good night.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't answer you right away and I'm sorry you thought I was ignoring or wasn't answering you on purpose. I know it's my fault that I didn't answer right away but that doesn't mean I didn't acknowledge you. You know me, you know how I am. I wasn't in a place to listen to what you sent me when I received the message and then I forgot. I'm sorry for that. But that's no reason to ignore me now. I would tell you to grow up but I wouldn't to offend you or anything. And now you've gotten me frustrated and I just want to cry because I don't want to fight with you. We've fought enough to last us a life time. I love you, I want you to know that. I also want to know that I would never intentionally hurt and that  I'm trying to not unintentionally hurt you either. But friendship is not a one way street. You have to give as much as you get because one day someone might realize that you aren't giving whatever you have to give and the cons will outweigh the pros and trying to keep up with you will become just to goddamn tiring. I don't want that for you. I love you so much, like a sister. I want your life to be full of love and friendship and happiness, but you need to truly open and offer yourself up, or else you won't ever be able to. And I can't do that for you. You can convince yourself that you are so mature and wise but in the end, you are just a teenager, like me, and despite all you seem to know there are something's that you just can't possibly understand at sixteen. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I love you to pieces but I think I'm realizing that that doesn't necessarily translate to you loving me that way.

 I wish I could tell you that I wasn’t thinking (I was). I wish I could say that it’s over and done with, that it will never happen again (because you and I both know it will). And I wish that you didn’t have to hurt because of what I did (because if I could, I’d take all the pain away, even if it meant that I’d suffer). But I do not wish to regret (I never will, hopefully). I do not wish to take it back (because, as mean as I may sound, I am whole now). I do not wish that you never walked into my life (even though you may be wishing that, I am too much of a selfish person to wish that). And I know that I’m confusing the fuck out of you right now (but I am so confused). I am so so sorry (no words can express the sentiment). And I know you may never want to speak to me again (I wouldn’t speak to myself). But, when push comes to shove, I hope that you can forgive me (then maybe I can begin to forgive myself).

I don’t really know what to feel to be honest. Of course I wish the feelings were mutual, but they’re not cos he has a girlfriend. Which I only found out ten minutes ago. I just thought things were going really good between us. But again, my overactive imagination took over and planted all kinds of seeds into soil that can never grow them. What is wrong with me? Do I want too much, is that why I never get? And I wanted, still want, him so fucking bad, it’s ridiculous. All I can do is imagine what it would be like to kiss him, hold his hand, run my fingers through his hair, feel his breath tickle my ear as he whispers his stupid comments into it. I don’t know whether to cry or laugh. Cry cos it’s never going to happen, or laugh cos I actually thought it could. I think I’ll just go to sleep for now.

I am terrified of dying. When I think of death, my heart squeezes and pushes up till it’s in my throat and refuses to go back down no matter how many times I swallow. When it suddenly hits me that everybody is going to die, some sooner then others. Me, my mom, my dad, my brother and sisters, my grandparents, my friends, my future husband, my kids, my grandkids. It scares me so much to think that I’ll be living while a person that I love is not. It breaks my heart to think of not existing and missing out on living with the people I love. What if I died tomorrow? Would I know I died? Would people cry? What song would my family play at my funeral? The thought of dying too soon fucking crushes me. My greatest fear, I think, is dying and not having done what I wanted to, not having lived my life. I feel like I’m wasting away. I feel like the clock is ticking. I’m sixteen. 

that sudden urge to pull his face to yours in a breathtaking kiss as you pass him in the hall. daydreaming in class about what it would be like to be able able to kiss him anytime i wanted to. imagining your first date and the your second and then your fifteenth. that rush of pure joy imagining him waiting outside class for you and walking down the hall hand-in-hand and not giving a fuck about what others think of you cos in that you are the happiest you’ve ever been.

that awkward moment when reality hits you like a ton of bricks. it was all a dream and he won’t be waiting for you, he won’t be holding your hand and he won’t be kissing you.