I don't think that I should see you tonight.
It's the homecoming game tonight, but I don't think that I can do it. Or that I should. All of the above. There's still that overbearing urge that makes me want to smear your number in purple and yellow paint on my face and to wear something that would show off a little more than school spirit. Really, it's a bad thing. Mostly because it's like 66 degrees outside, but also because I don't necessarily need to be a slut, right? Right. I'll just keep telling myself that.
I guess that I just wanted you to see that there's more to me than what meets the eye. I promise that I listen to music. I do swear sometimes. I've probably had more relationship experience than you have ever had in your entire life. I can be more than you could ever imagine, especially for you.
I really want tattoos. Quite a few. Not like colorful and huge and sleeves or anything. I want all of them to be black. I want birds on my hand. Now, why I want birds on my hand isn't necessarily something that I like to tell most people. But if you ever were to ask, I would probably tell you. I'd probably tell you anything you wanted to know, even if it was something that I had buried so deep that I'd have to push aside all the rubble to get there. But I hate that you're a part of the rubble. That's the thing I hate the most.
YOU ARE READING
To All The Michaels I Have Ever Known
Teen Fiction*EDITED, REVISED, AND COMPLETED 08/22* Let me just lay this out for you really quick: 1. Freshman year of high school there was a Michael. He was tall, like 6'8, and once he decided to not be a dick, he was really sweet. 2. You. Obviously. Tha...
