Dear Boy in Freshman English,

Hello, hope you’ve been well. Oh, that’s a lie. Sometimes, I wish everyone knew and you were an outcast. Sometimes, I wish you were miserable like me. Sometimes, I wish I never met you.

How did we meet? I remember it as one day, I entered the classroom, to our table. I was wearing a dress, I can’t remember which it was now, but you looked up and I blushed. That’s how I knew you liked me. That one look, a flick of your eyes and an upheaval of your lips, only in one corner. So I started to care. Fast and hard.

To our luck, with our new seats, we were next to each other again. Located in the corner of the room, snuggled next to the world map. It felt like our own little world. It felt safe. But now it’s destroyed. Buried in the corners of my mind under the feel of your hand in mine and our secret hideaways.  

Every day before I had English, I was doomed to having PE. Every day, I slathered on deodorant and slapped on some makeup, rushing up the two flights upstairs and pausing a minute, to catch my breath. Hoping I wasn’t red. You didn’t care.

It’s strange, the fact that you became my everything when we had nothing in common. The only thing that tied me to you was dreams. The map behind us providing inspiration, showing us where we could go if we did.

Our precarious flirty dance started innocently and slowly. It started with a tap on each others foot. One, look away, blush, tap, tap. (Recently, I saw a freshman girl doing the same dance with a senior boy, and I almost vomited.) Our innocent feet taps slowly turned to a hand on my thigh. It was nice at first. But only at first.

How does the world end? At the hands of a man. My world ended at your hands on February 13th, 2014.