I did not love you,

I do not love you.

But I have forty unsent letters

hidden between my books.

No one takes the time to write

letters but I have taken hours

for you.



You were my greatest story—

The boy who lived life fast,

who made sure to never get

what he wanted.

He left everything broken.



There was a girl.

He used to make her laugh.

Now she hated him, she avoided him

but he knew she still searched for him.

Most days she would turn away

but some days she would see him

and walk past him like she could

not see him.

He wondered if she cared

or did not care at all. He did not care

enough to find out.

He lost this girl.

He saw a glimpse of her face, a shadow

on the concrete and watched her

walk away for the last time.

He did not feel

anything.



My greatest story:

The boy who did not care

about the girl who cared so much.



I do not love you,

I did not love you.

Last month I threw away forty letters.

I have grown tired of trying to spin

fiction into fact.