To: Anyone who will Listen. Love: Jacey.

Dear Ryan; Please Don't Break Me Like You Have Before

Dear Ryan, who sits next to me in computer lit.

I have cried over you, I’ve written poems about you and I’ve broken pencils in anger because of you. In sixth grade you wrote me a poem, which I can still recite to this day. In eighth grade, I asked you out; you said yes then broke up with me the next day. This year I told myself that I wouldn’t get involved with you, because you’re bad news. But I did. All of my close friends from eighth grade tell me that I shouldn’t be involved with you, but my new friend, she thinks you like me. Sometimes, I get my hopes up and think that you do. This year, you’re actually being nice to me, you’re talking to me, and I can respond without over thinking anything. Last week I thought you liked me, just a little, but you said that you liked someone else. My new friend and I have a hotness scale for guys, you are a duke, without your hat on and when your hair is longish and curls at the ends.  Today, your hand was so close to mine, I wanted you to just casually take my hand and intertwine your fingers with mine. It takes everything in me not to throw myself at you, so you can wrap your arms around me and we’ll just stand there holding each other in close embrace, until someone tries to talk to us. I grow a bit jealous of the other girls you talk to, but I have no right to be, you’re not mine. I wish you were. I’ve always wanted to have a person, but not just any person; you as my person. You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours. Sometimes, when I sigh in frustration in computer lit., you ask what’s wrong and I want to tell you all of my problems. I want to tell you about how my mom screams at me for no reason, about how in cheer, I’m pretty sure my back purposely lets me fall, about how insecure I am. I want to tell you about how fucked up I am, how stressed I am, about how disgusted with myself because I cut my thigh with a razor blade the night before. The thing I want to tell you so desperately is that you can probably take some of that stress away, and how I will never pick up a razor again with the intentions to break it and use the blades, about how we had cheer practice in a room of mirrors and that I could barely look at myself without crying.   Especially about how much it pains me to have you so close and knowing that you’re not mine. I can’t tell you about those things, we’re not that close, and never will be. I will just keep getting my hopes up to have them shattered again.  Just know, that you are the reason for the butterflies, the reason I love computer lit. so much, the reason my best friend gives me a special look, and the reason I try so hard to be perfect, in everything I do around you. Just remember, you have someone very fragile wrapped around your finger, so please don’t break me like you have before.

                                                                                                     Love,

                                                                                                     Jacey