Risk ☣ m.c

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                          Dear Erin,                     27.11.14

 

We used to talk a lot, don't you remember? We were best of friends, so were our parents. But I screwed it all up that night when I admitted I loved you, you just left. Walked away with out a word. I don't know why, I mustn't be good enough for you. That doesn't really surprise me seen as you are the definition of perfect, and me? Well I'm some nineteen year old boy who delivers pizza for a living. Do you know how much it kills to see you everyday, but not being able to say a word. I see you walk past my house seen as we are neighbors, but all you do is snob me off. I see you walk past everyday at school, you are in my maths and geography classes, your locker is even right next to mine. Yet you haven't said a word to me for three years, until today.

Today you talked to me. I missed the sound of your voice. Although, I couldn't quite understand what you were saying. You were talking how my grandad used to, in riddles.

You said things, things that confused me very much. You said things like 'Just keep me where the light is', 'Paint the sky, make it yours', 'Things could of been different' and 'I still haven't found what I'm looking for.'

I will admit, you are a very different person, but the use of language like that, well, isn't you. I wanted to ask if you were okay and if anything was going on, but before I could ask you left.

And now you are all I can think about. Does this mean we will talk regularly for now? Have you forgiven me for confessing my love?

But for all I know that could of just been some kind of prank.

I highly doubt you'll see these, basically because 'I don't have the balls' to give them to you. This is my letters to you, that aren't meant for your eyes. If that even makes sense.

I still love you Erin Neiva Brown.

All my love,   your pizza delivery boy.

                                 Michael Clifford