Dear Boy,

how does it feel to steal the heart of a thirteen-year-old girl? i wonder if it is a game fifteen-year-old gents' enjoy playing. unless of course you were sincere. if you weren't sincere, perhaps you should consider a job in professional acting. you made a damn fool out of me.

but then again, it was i that had an inability to express how i felt about you. perhaps it was all my fault our relationship failed. i learned to keep my feelings to myself, later realizing i built up a wall of resentment. i've been told it's a talent most adults have yet to conquer.

but why did i need to keep everything to myself? because i was raised to tip-toe around those that have hurt me? because i was afraid of hurting you? either way, i guess it doesn't matter; that thirteen-year-old-nobody isn't me anymore.

i have a temper just about as silent as a pistol. i cry like a dry riverbed during a hot summer. and i've been raised to know nothing about instability.

please boy, forgive me for my tongue. i know it's sharp. but if i have nothing else, i know i can rely on my sword. it's the only weapon i know how to affectively use. but i know you've mastered your double edged sword also, for you've slashed me with it plenty.

i'm sick of pretending my feelings went away. i'm tired of saying i don't care.

i do care. if i didn't care, i wouldn't hate you.

i wouldn't hate you if i didn't love you.

so i do care.

and i continually try to learn how to convey my feelings. it's not a talent that comes easily. i've tried several times with you. but you don't care. you just choose to leave.

each time, another part of me decays. each time, another part of me turns to stone.

boy, i've given you everything i have to offer. my time, my frequent flyer miles, my heart. does that not mean anything to you?

if it doesn't, you've changed.

but even if it did matter, i can't say i'd believe you.

i watch my brother and his own significant other fall in love. i watch them play, and laugh. i watch them cry, and fight. i listen to their frustration with one another. i watch their eyes turn dreamy. i hear their 'i love you's" everynight before bed. i watch their sorrow each time she leaves. as i silently watch, all i can think about is the day that things will  change. i remember how i felt. i wonder how they will feel. all the while, i wonder "what if?"

but i am confident that one day i'm going to look back on this and think about how silly i was. i'll be married to some brilliant man, and mock myself for thinking i was in love at such a premature age.

yours until the pigs fly,
(or not)
alessondra marie