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Staring out the window of my shoebox room, I pondered the possibility of love, life, and take out from the best fast food restaurant in the world, the golden arches... I was a simple girl, with a simply bland life, living on in the vast unknown universe, wasting away as a soulful, pessimistic human. I never really got why I lived on as a human surviving rather than living life. It was an impossible feet to survive this vast and incredibly boring life without a twist, a turn or maybe just a tiny bit of romance.

That may be another one of my boring and pleadingly bland exaggerations, because, I in fact did have a tiny bit of romance going on in my life - no matter how small, and by small I mean, three year old love life average, because frankly, middle schoolers had a wilder love life than mine. - and by that I mean, a small crush. My best friend, frankly, thought so too, which was why here we were writing a bitterly sad letter towards my little crush. Which also happened to be my ultra handsome neighbor, and best friend, Henry Peters.

Now please don't think this is going to be another one of those girl best friend loves boy best friend, boy best friend falls for girl best friend, the end. 'Cause definitely this isn't one of them.

So, as she - aka: my best friend, the reason for this balony - leaves me with a blank page and a black ball pen, ready to head off to our kitchen, which has been recently stored with oreos, I start to write.

As the words poured out of me like an open faucet I couldn't help but feel that this was the start of something, something that would be the end of me... Something that wouldn't just be me writing secret letters toward Henry, but more than that... I felt like things would somehow get out of hand, and boy was I right.

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