On my bed, I lay in a heap. I cry my heart out and I think of you. I look over the pictures you sent and my tears turn to anger. Where are you? Why aren’t you replying to me? One day you are telling me how much you love me and the next: nothing. Absolute nothing! What am I to do when the only way to speak with you is over this medium? You once told me that I was hard to read but you were wrong. I was always there; you were the first person I talked to in the morning and the last before I went to bed. I tried keeping my distance so this wouldn’t happen. I tried keeping my distance so I wouldn’t get my heart broken. But if you could only see me now, looking at your pictures with my makeup smeared together with the tears that refuse to stop.
What are you doing right now? Are you thinking about me like I am you? Do you still think of me as much as you use to? Actually no, don’t answer that. The answer might be too much to bear. See, look at me; I’m a weak little girl. You made me like this. I use to be strong. I use to be Happy. I had taught myself to always expect great things in life to be unreachable. I had taught myself to never cry over a boy. But you, you taught me how to hope. You made it all seem so real. But what exactly was I to you? A game? Did you want to see how long it would take for a stranger to fall in love with you? Well congratulations, it took you less than a week. I’m ashamed in myself that you were about to break my walls down in that short of time.
Everything you told me, everything we shared. Was any of it true? All those times you told me you loved me, did you mean it? Right now, I don’t know what to think. Right now, everything is painful. I feel like there is a boot stomping down on my chest. I feel like everything in life is getting worse and worse since you left. I know that I shouldn’t feel like this. I know that you shouldn’t have been this important to me. But you were. You are. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to concentrate. It hurts to be alone. And I never realized that until you came along. You ruined everything! And I hate you for that. I hate you. I hate you! I HATE YOU! I can say that over and over but it won’t make it true. As much as I want to, I can’t hate you. Is it even possible to hate something that you love so much?
I shouldn’t love you though. I shouldn’t love you for so many reasons. The most important reason: you’re six years older. No only that, you live in a different country. We’ve never met in person. But that doesn’t stop me; it didn’t stop you.
I told my friends about you. They tried reassuring me that you’d talk to me again. They stopped trying after a month passed. They moved on to another idea: something happened to you. I don’t think they realize that this thought hurts me more than you simply not talking to me does. I don’t think that they realize every time they say something must have happened to you, I go home and cry. I don’t want to think of you like that. I want to make up stupid excuses instead. Like maybe you lost your phone and your computer broke? Maybe you took an unexpected trip to Africa to help cure hunger and couldn’t take any communication devices with you? The second idea wouldn’t surprise me; you’re always trying to help others.
Do you believe in the theory of soul mates? Or the saying “a match made in heaven”? I have since I was little. I use to always tell people who my dream boy was. He had greenish blue eyes, he loved to read and write, he played sports, he would be one of the smartest people I would ever know, and not to be shallow, but he would have a really nice body. He would be the sweetest, nicest, most loving boyfriend a girl could ask for. He would sweep me off my feet and cook for me every evening; he would understand me. There was one problem with my dream boy though: he could never be real. No boy could ever be that perfect. Or that’s what I thought until I met you. It still amazes me how you could be exactly what I dreamed for. You shouldn’t be real! I don’t want you to be real! A boy like you was supposed to be someone I dreamed about but never knew. Every time I got I boyfriend, I was supposed to pretend that they could possibly be that boy. Now all I’m ever going to do is compare them to you. All I’ll be able to do is think about how much better you are than them. And that’s not right. You shouldn’t have affected me life as much as you did.
But as angry as I am, and as much pain as you have put me through, one thing stays the same:
I miss you my wonder boy.
