silvia

ii.

dear bella rue,

i realize that you are very busy and that you have this little thing called a life that i don’t have, but i had at least hoped that you would give me a short reply to my previous letter. who knows, though? maybe my letter didn’t get delivered; sometimes i write too messy. or maybe you just don’t care and you threw my letter away. who knows?

(i sincerely hope that isn’t the case, bella rue. your songs are written for people that are fucked up like me, and to think that you would just cast us away like shit makes my heart hurt even more than it already does.)

i can’t believe i’m telling you this. i already hate myself a little because of it.

i, silvia, like a boy.

his name is jesse. he’s in my algebra class, and he sits in front of me. he’s really nice, and he’s the only person who’s ever treated me like a human being in my entire life. he makes me feel like i’m not crazy, bella. i think that’s a worthy thing to reward with my love. who knows? maybe jesse can be the thing that saves me, other than your albums.

there's something else that's been bugged me. lately, i’ve been missing my dad. he was the only member of my family that i could stand. he and my mom divorced last year, and he kind of just dropped off of the face of earth. i haven’t seen him in a long time. i asked my mom where my dad is. she only blinked once or twice, then told me that she made me an appointment with a therapist.

i don’t want to go to therapy, bella. your songs are my therapy.

i hope you answer this letter. i would like that a lot.

sincerely yours,

silvia.