After
47 pink and yellow notes, colour coordinated along the doorframe.
Your fascination with giving me love notes has become creepily out of hand. Especially when I end up falling asleep to dream about the moist stickiness taped to my forehead.
But of course, I still don't look at them.
Sometimes when I wake up, when it feels like the middle of the night, my finger etch across the pieces of paper, hoping to cut me and remind myself that I'm still humane, but that's the extent on what your letters do to me.
Sometimes, you don't even write on the notes. I can't feel the dots on your i's and the curl at the bottom of your t's. Yet, It would still become another letter to the list.
Now, I silently ask why you still bother. I mean, I'm pretty much like a mute girl in your basement.
Oh, wait.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe
Teen FictionMaybe it was the look you always had in your eye when you were in class that made me hate you. Maybe it was the way I watched her run from you with fear. Maybe I should've taken your advice, layered in sticky notes which decorated my locker. Maybe...
