Dear Mr. Perfect,
I want to thank you. It's funny how things ended up like this. I still don't know who you are but ... thank you for making life worth living. In my head, when I close my eyes, all I saw was your dark noir hair and what looked like grey eyes. I can't stop thinking about how we met. November 15th. Thanks for knocking down my books on my freaking birthday. But it's okay. I forgave you.
Are you thinking about me? I know I'm thinking about you. All I remember is our lips intertwining. You made me feel special. Was it really necessary to leave? I can't seem to find anyone like you. Even though I see those grey eyes and dark noir hair on a lot of other boys body's, none of them spell out "Mr. Perfect." I really wish things could back to the way they were but wishing won't be me anything. At least not for me.
So, how's Pennsylvania? Is it warmer than good ol' Toronto Canada? I bet it is. Oh and I think I already know the answer to my question. You probably aren't thinking about me. I know you have a lot of other people writing you. You're so freaking popular, even though you're ... you know. A lot of people talk about you in school too. Louis calls you his drug dealer. Oskar calls you his fanfiction and for some weird reason, Marry Kaitlyn calls you her piglet. Weird huh? But I don't care what they call you. All I know is that you're Mr. Perfect, period. I can tell you aren't thinking about me. You never return my letters with an actual letter. You always give me some one paragraph email asking "How's school" or "Anything new happen," while all your other fans are gushing over your "thoughtful letters." I feel insane that I still send letters to you. Look at me! We're in the 21st century where we have phones that talk and yet I still use letters. No matter how much you make me want to slam a door on my hands so I can never write to you, I can't. Because one day, and I know it, one day you're going to write me back one of those "thoughtful letters" and then I'll be able to gush about it too.
Always Loved,
Monroe Lagoon
YOU ARE READING
What About Your Roommate?
RomanceWhen I close my eyes, I see Clowns dancing towards me. Fuck! I hate clowns. They're holding something in they're hands. "A razor? Is it really that time of the month? Well let's go." As I walk to the bathroom, he come up and put his hands on mine. H...
