Satan School of Sophomores

Letter: 6/18/15

10:28pm Thursday, June 18

But when I go to write the letter, nothing fits right.

Honestly, there's nothing left to say.

Don't be too mysterious to text me.

I think we had a cool relationship of sorts. We made out in a skatepark and took pictures together. You were right about that strange falling feeling, but it's nice to let go too.

I may never see you again in person, so I should say that you've got something. But, you just aren't mysterious.

Also, I'm an on/off switch, and my boobs are really quite nice. You would've been impressed.

But this is goodbye.

I'm going to vomit if JJ actually ends up going to Europe to see you.

Sometimes I wonder if you wonder about me. Maybe.
There's gotta be something about me that enticed you. Maybe it's that I'm sexy/innocent/quirky/smart/tasteful/misunderstood/sadinside/knowing/staysuplate.

You're leaving tomorrow, and I imagine you on the plane. I think about where you'll sit; window or isle?

I wonder if you cried. Did you? Did you cry for this place? I also wonder if you cried for me.

I'm lying in my bed. It's a queen, if you didn't know. It's relatively lumpy but everyone who has slept in it loved it. I wonder if you have white sheets or color. Maybe black and white because you're you?

I like to imagine I'm a reckless and mussed up thing.

I often wonder how I look from a third perspective.

I used to always glance at you in art, hoping you'd be glancing back at me, and I'd always feel so stupid if you were looking somewhere else.