Summer is almost over.
I have one week to get my homework done and get my sleeping schedule back in order.
That's gonna be a little hard.
My hair has grown, refusing to let your fingers be brushed out of its tangles.
Buts it's purple now so at least I won't be able to see you in it.
All summer long I thought of you and plenty of other people that I'd left behind.
I thought about why you didn't hate me.
I thought maybe you were insane.
I thought maybe I was insane.
Either way, school starts in a week and I have yet to prepare myself to see you everyday.
I'd grown used to your absence.

In high school, my mom was an athlete.
A runner.
She was in cross country and so were my uncles.
She was in it to help and motivate them.
See my mom didn't run from troubles; she ran headfirst into them.

I got that same trait.
I am by no means an athlete, but I'm a runner.
I run when I'm mad, and when I'm bored, and for exercise.
The only difference between my mom and I is that she ran towards her troubles, but I don't.
I run and run and run and keep running to get as far away from them as possible.

I'm a runner.                
It's in my genes.

My father doesn’t exist.
At least not to me.
He disappeared years ago when he stopped calling.

You don’t exist.
At least not to me.
You disappeared years ago when you stopped calling.

Fiercely*  I n d e p e n d e n t
I am as stubborn as the Aries Ram
     which just so happens to be my zodiac sign.
I don't care what others might think of me
     but at the same time I live to please.
I've found that I can really only rely on my family
     but my friends care far too much
          far too fleetingly.
I am blunt and will call you out on your *******
     as nicely as possible.
I can't handle tears even when they're my own
     and they always sound like
                                  short
                                                   dying
                                                                ­    gasps
         but that's what they are, right?

It's your lungs and eyes dying because your heart was too dumb to listen to your own brain.
My brain was only trying to look out for me.
I'm not sorry that I've failed it way too many times.

My mind constantly revolves around myself
     because I'm way too proud and vain
          of my way too small accomplishments.
I want to be known as Great
     and I am not ashamed to admit it.
No matter what I do
          be it the purest good or the wickedest bad
               it will be great and jaw dropping.
I am extremely conceited.
     And shallow
          And a hypocrite
               And a liar
And will always keep score
     (By the way as of 2012, I had 37 points and you 34. I'm still winning.)
But I own up to it and will always try to be better.
I am also determined
     And hardworking
          And persistent
Which means that I will get farther than most people.

In 2001 the No Child Left Behind Act was implemented in primary and secondary schools in the USA to ensure exactly what its name says.
But there are always children left behind.
     There are always people left behind
          And I will not be one of them.
And no matter how conceited and full of myself I am
     I will always find your name written in between the lines of my poetry
          whispered with every breath that I take
               crumpled on sheets of paper that I've long since thrown away
                   because every line that I wrote was never good enough for you.

The summer before my senior year
    I tried to isolate myself from my friends and family as much as possible.
Not because I was depressed
     but because I knew that I had to learn how to be happy all by myself.
I love them all to death
     but I know how much it hurts
          when you lose yourself in another person
               so much that you can't find a way out
                    or even a way to heal once you've escaped.

I'm hard to love enough as it is
     so I did it to train myself for the times in life
          when I know that I will be alone.
But I was taught that there's a difference between being alone
     and being lonely
          *so which one are you?

We crossed pinkies and you led me into a house full of rooms that I didn't know.
We saw a rooms full of old clothes
A room of people with dogs and cats everywhere
A room where I laid my head in your lap and stroked your leg while you played with my hair.
A room where we sat down and I realized that I couldn't go through with it; couldn't go through with us
So I ran into the next room where there was a garden and at first it seemed nice, but with every step that I took the garden died and left me without air to breathe.
And then you pulled me out, into the last room where you held me in your arms nd danced me around the room until I realized that I wasn't gasping for air anymore.
You held me close and we walked out together.

Sometimes I sit and wonder what people say about me when I'm not there.
Am I the bad friend?
Am I the one that everyone regrets meeting?
The way that you avoid me makes me think that I am.

What did I do wrong?
I'm there when people need me, but that's just the thing;
I'm only there when people need me.
I make Mr. Cellophane look like the elephant in the room.

See, I just don't get it.
I know that this sounds selfish, but when will somebody finally start to care about me?
When will the time come that I don't have to message first and then not even get a reply?
God, not even my "best friends" talk to me on  daily basis.
Or even a weekly basis.

I'm like a public water fountain.
People are glad when they see me, but it's not like I'm their first choice
They were probably too broke to afford a better choice.
I am a placeholder.
I am temporary.
I will never make the final cut, but do you remember when you said that you would always have time for me?
Well you and I must have different definitions of the word "always" because time is up and wow, it went so fast.

So the next time that you complain about having no friends, I want you to remember how I was there.
Me, the nonexistent friend; I was always there to pick you up when you needed it and even when you didn't.

I want you to remember every 2 AM conversation,
Every fear that you told me,
Every deep, dark, secret desire,
Every ******* lie that you uttered.
I want you to remember how you pushed me away; how I came back the first couple of times it happened, but this time I won't.

I won't be your ego boost and I refuse to satisfy your sadistic need for attention because I am not the bad friend.
I have never been and never will be.
And maybe I'm thinking too much or maybe I'm not.
Maybe this is all true or not
And maybe one day I'll have the courage to tell you this to your face.

But sometimes I sit and wonder what you say about me when I'm not there.
Am I the good friend?
*Am I  the one that you regret meeting?

I'm not asking you to trust me
because I don't know what kind of mistakes I'll make in life

I'm asking you to love me in spite of those mistakes
because God knows that I've done the same with you.

Why is it that love and suffering makes poets of us all?

When suffering,
we are told to get rid of what makes us feel so horrid
and we do,
but hold onto the memory for its sheer poetic beauty

And love?
Love *****.
It's a whirlwind of emotions that you can't exactly pinpoint
and even though I am guilty as well,
I have yet to understand why we would want to subject ourselves to the pain of writing it all down,
of immortalizing it.

Why is that love and suffering makes poets of us all?

He escuchado que las palabras suenan mejor en español.

Dicen que los vocales se escuchan más bonitos que en inglés.

Desafortunadamente, "adiós" tiene tres vocales y todo el mismo dolor.

Kiss me like you're trying to
steal the breath from me

Hug me like you're trying to
mould into me

Touch me like you want to
break me

Take me like you actually
*want me

To say that I don't think of you is a lie.
To think that I don't miss you is blasphemous
And missing you is a sin that I have yet to confess
And I'm not Catholic so I don't know how that works.

But here's my problem:  I don't want to confess if it's not to you.
It becomes meaningless once it reaches the ears of someone else.

They tell me that loving God means that He's the only one.
I can place No-One else above him.

Is it bad to say that He was cast down the second I met you?
I don't think so.
I think He should be understanding of my longing.
Why would He create you if not to present you to me?

I'd like to think that that's the case; you are meant for me.

Sadly I don't think that The Lord and all His mysterious ways work like that.
I don't think He likes your place above him because He is a jealous God.

And now I can't have you.

He has struck us like the Tower of Babel and it's hard for me to understand you.
This is why I must confess, why I must reveal my sins to you, for who can forgive me except for the one who was wronged?

*God won't and I won't either.

You make me sick to my stomach
with dozens of butterflies flapping out you name in morse code.
I want to wrap my hands around your insecurities,
strangling them from the neck down.
I wish to ****** your sadness and bury it six feet under with a shovel.
No eulogy.

Sometimes I can see your fears dying in a tub
where I have placed a hair dryer in the water.
I want to see your worst nightmare standing in a pool of blood
because I have shot it down from your mind.
I can hear you misery gasping for air from a lack of your sufferings reaching its lungs.
I want to see the spine of your burdens crack under the weight of your happiness.

You make me a violent person and that's not healthy I suppose,
but lucky for you,
*I was always a sick child.

For the most part, I think I'm a pretty expressive person.
If I stub my toe on the leg of a table I will curse to high Hell and condemn the person who even invented tables in the first place.
I mean who puts tables in dark rooms?
Use your common sense, people.
Lord knows that I don't have any.

I'm know as a rather blunt person in my group of friends.
I try to be as honest as possible, but that's hard to do when you're such a good liar.
So in order to compensate for this wonderful trait of mine, I hand out "I love you's" like cheap hair ties, except never to the people that really matter.
In the six years that I've known you, I've said "I love you" once.
And it's not that I don't--trust me--that's not the case.
It's that yours was too sincere.

I love you.
You make me nervous and uncomfortable.
I love you.
You make me want to tear my hair out.
I love you.
**** it, I want to **** you sometimes.
I love you.
Those three words will never be enough to fully describe  every adoring, furious, loving, and murderous thought I have about you.
*I love you.

There is a law in physics that says energy cannot be created or destroyed.
The energy just goes on becoming something else and this energy has been here for millions of years-
up to when the dinosaurs roamed the earth and even farther back.
I think the dinosaurs would be disappointed to know that the energy they spent on trying to stay alive is being wasted on me trying to catch your eye.

Now millions of years ago, the dinosaurs weren't thinking about love.
They were concentrated on survival
and in a way
So am I because I honestly don't believe that I'll make it without you.
But with you by my side, honey, we'll rule this earth for years to come.

Forget the ice age and meteors
in fact
the dinosaurs should be scared of us because there can't be a love this strong without some collateral damage, whether it be you, me, or the dinosaurs, but know this:
I love you like the dinosaurs tried to survive;
*desperately.

If I should die -
                           it'll be because I'm no longer needed.
You'll have found your purpose in life
                           and mine will be through.
I don't have a favorite flower
                          so when I die,
I want to be buried with every poem I ever wrote about you.

You won't need them anymore-
                           because after I'm gone-
You'll lose interest.
                            I'll be nothing but a dream-
a long gone memory that you'll remember in the dead of night
and thinking that I'm just a nightmare,
                            I'll be shut in once again-
laid back into the coffin that you nailed shut.

There's no sense in keeping skeletons in your closet.

This American life.
This great life.
Let's talk about great.
This is a country where we love food, but one of our greatest dangers is obesity.

Not violence, not sickness  like cancer or AIDS or TB, but obesity.
Self-induced, wanted, not-so-desperately needed.
We **** people on sight because "he looked at me funny" and get away with it, but condemn the man who was protecting his family and for what?

The color of his skin or the language of his homeland?
Take your pick.

Oh and there's tons more too.

I was born in South Texas.
I am an American citizen,, but my roots come from Mexico.
I look like my people, I speak like them too,
but when I went up North to New York,
I felt that I wasn't wanted.
I didn't belong.

In the state of immigrants,
in the land of aliens, because the Natives were kicked out long ago,
I did not belong.
Me!
Whose ancestors had been here for centuries, whose people of South Texas have been here since before these "great states" were never great,
I do not belong on this soil.

God bless America.

Did you know that in the U.S. of A you can sell ******, which demoralizes the "sacred communities of our homes",
but two people of the same *** who love each other so deeply and passionately cannot marry for the simple fact that they will ruin our "traditional family values."

Nothing is traditional anymore and by God nothing is valued.
But **** this life.
This American life.
This great life.

Not so great after all...

It was a letter.
A middle school type letter where you had someone give it to me.
You were saying that you loved me.  
Or that you could've loved me had you not been so busy with all that was going on in your life.
How terribly tragic.

Imagine me.
Desperately pining after you,  yearning to grab your attention every time I saw you only to find that you were too busy for me.
You once said you would always have time for me
You once said you loved me.
What happened to that?

I kept that letter.
Kept it with all of the poems and notes I'd ever written for you.
They're nothing but old pictures now.
Frayed at the edges, but still full of precious memories that hurt to look at.

Now common knowledge goes to show that girls cannot makeup their minds.
This is generally true and I am no exception.
Or maybe I am.

I can never decide what I want to eat so I'll eat everything in sight,
but if you ask me what my favorite songs are,
because it can't be just one, I will list off every song that you have ever shown me
no matter how much I hated it.

My existence revolves around you,
but don't you dare **** me off because I will hate you...
for like 5 minutes.
I could never stay mad at you.

You're like school and learning to me.
I might not like it all the time,
but God do I need it to succeed.

See right now,
I'm rather ****** that you haven't spoken to me yet, but I'm always looking forward to the next reason that I have to talk to you.

It's a love/hate thing.

Or more like a "I hate to love you" thing.
but only sometimes.
I can't make up my mind remember?

Maybe you can help me out.
Let's talk it out together.
or maybe not.

Let's write each other poetry that explains how we feel.
or is that too cliche?
Oh whatever, our whole relationship is too cliche.

So maybe one day I'll tell you.
maybe one day I'll work up the lousy guts to tell you that you're all I can think about,
all I can dream about,
all I can dare to see every time I close my eyes.

Whenever people ask me what I want to do in the future
I can't give an honest answer.
I want to be a lawyer. I want to save people. I want to be a librarian. I want to save the world,
but I just can't decide.

But I know one thing's for sure.

No matter what I do or where I end up,
be it heaven or hell or anyplace in between,
I want to spend every second of everyday on this ******* up planet in this miserable, undecided, and cruel world world *with you.

I long for a way
For you to see what I see
When I look at you

To the boy with the saxophone skills,
I miss you.
I never said it and now I see that it was bad.
I hope I see you again.

To the girl who ******* me over,
******* ❤️

To my old youth leaders from church,
You left and so did I.
You might come back, but I won't.

To my sister,
Yes, I'm still *******.
I had to call 911 for you.
I'm glad you're okay.

To my first crush,
Was I too much?

To my cat,
You only like me because I feed you.
That's okay.

To the girl who is quieter than I am,
Speak up, honey.
They won't see your brilliance so make them hear it.

To the homeless man on Jackson Road,
Where are the shoes my mother bought you?

To my other sister,
You are a whirlwind of emotions.
You are amazing.
You are unstoppable.
Grow up and be unconquerable.

To the mailman,
I'm sorry that we're always ordering so many things online.
I'm sorry that they were big packages.

To the cute boy at HEB,
I know you work there.
Yes, I look for you every time.

To my cousin Denisse on my mothers side,
You're annoying.
Shut up.

To Denisse's older sister, Monica,
I'm sorry about your sister.
I'm sure you've hit her.

To my "father",
It's been years since I last saw you.
It's been years since you last stopped calling.

To my friends,
I know I'm an idiot.
I know I'm sarcastic.
I know I can be mean, but trust me, I don't mean it.
Please forgive me.

To the man at the post office,
Get over it.
It's your job.

To my 7th grade Texas history teacher,
You taught me the meaning of sarcasm.
I have yet to perfect it.

To my 9th grade history teacher,
You were the sweetest teacher I have ever had.
You taught me the meaning of procrastination.

To my best friend,
You are my soul mate and will always be my better, whiter half.

To my brother,
You might think that I hate you, but trust me.
I don't.

To my stepfather (the second one),
You were always my favorite one.

To the stray cat that attacks mine,
Go away.

To the missing sock that always stays lost,
Where have you gone and how can I find you?

To my UIL Ready Writing sponsor,
I enjoyed spending those Saturdays with you.
You taught me where the word "*******" came from.
Thank you.

To the boy that my best friend dated for a while,
She did like you, I promise.
Her love was just too strong and burned way too fast.
Better luck next time.

To the computer-programming textbook that I've had under my bed for a year,
I don't regret that decision.

To my mother,
I love you.
Thank you for raising me the way you did.

To the kids who skipped and smoked at school,
How I wish I could join you.

To the Bowery Poetry Club in New York City,
One day I will go back and you will be open and I will perform.

To the boy I love,
I hope that one day you find someone that you love as much as I love you.
*I hope it's me.

Dear No-One,

Someone has become your friend. Unfortunately, now Someone knows why No-One wanted to be a part of the Loneliness. No-One is scared and Someone sees it. No-One does a bad job of hiding. Or at least Someone is really good at figuring stuff out. No-One doesn't have to be afraid. No-One sits alone, in a corner, by himself, mumbling the dark sayings that come from his mind. The darkest parts. The deepest parts. Someone has brought a light. Let her place it. Someone sees. Someone understands. Someone tried to help. Someone failed. But Someone tried. Now, it is No-One's fault. All their own fault. No-One left to help now. Someone's gone. Anyone's gone. They're all gone.

Sincerely, Someone.

I'll love you always
Till the end of time itself
Forever is real

I'm so tired
So winded
So full of it
And by it, I mean the voices.
Dear lord, they are everywhere.
They fill every which crevice of my mind.
The places I didn't even know existed.
Filled with them.

Them.
Implying that they are plural.
Maybe they aren't.
Maybe they are one.
One voice.
My voice.

Variations of my voice all telling me so many different things.
They call out my insecurities and exploit them.
The worst of all being:
*You will end up alone.

There is a lone cloud in the sky.

The car that just passed
The person inside is waiting to crash.
There are two couples
One can't wait to break up
The other just *****.
There is a lone cloud in the sky and it covers only me.

I am the dark spot on your Sun
But you still say that you like me anyway.
I can't imagine why.

You say that to every happy ending needs a sad beginning
And I am your sad beginning

Every musician plays a bad note before playing perfection
But unless I am that perfection
I will not be played again

You have ruined me.

I wasn't always the lone cloud in the sky.
I was the ray of sunshine
Bursting through your clouds of misery.

You have your happy ending now.
You have played your perfection.
Your sky is blue.

But you keep me in it
The lone cloud
For when you need to stand beneath it with me.

*Most of the time it covers only me.

We all have demons
Some we have to make peace with
I make friends of mine

These people.
The ones standing around complaning of which song they heard first.
These people.
Who never would think that they would make it out of this miserable place.
These people.
My people.

I don't associate myself with them, for I have dreams of my own, but these people.
Most have nothing to live for.
They have dreams as well,
but don't have any intention of living for them,
of striving for them.

My people often make me sick.

Like trying to swim in a desert, I have been trying to forget you.
Obviously, it's not working.

When I was growing up my mother would say " It's okay not to try if you know you're fail miserably, but you can try it just for the experience."

So I did.

I spent hours reading books, familiarizing myself with characters that seemed a lot like you; impulsive, stubborn, witty, and sarcastic.
Can you see the similarity?

After deducing that books weren't the answer, I turned to the internet.
Sadly, this was a bust as well.
Every cat picture I saw reminded me of Star, the cat who ran away.
Yes, this was your cat.
I can't imagine why she would leave.
Honestly, CAN YOU READ THE SARCASM?

My last attempt at forgetting you was filling my head with meaningless facts.
Did you know that penguins have knees?
Yeah. You told me that.

Anyways, I decided that there was just no staying away from you.
My mind was like a private detective, subconciously tracking you down, searching for any type of clue that would lead me to you.
Don't ask me why I end up next to you everyday.
I honestly don't know.

But sometimes, I can see my train of thought leading me to you and it never crosses my mind to come to a screeching halt.

Maybe it's because I want to crash into you.
Or maybe it's because I want you to meet me halfway.

It is okay to be weak sometimes.
It is okay to cry sometimes.
It is perfectly fine to just let your worries go away for a while.

So I will be here with tissues and nothing else you need for when you ask me.

Or even if you don't ask
I will be here.
Please know that.

It hurts me to see you so full of emotions that you don't know what to do with
because I know how that feels.

I'm sure you've had just as much practice with bottling up emotions,
like I have,
but look where that's landed us.
Crying in school, hoping they won't see.
Secretly wishing they will.

We didn't deserve that pain
Or at lest you don't.

Tell me what makes you weak.
Tell me what makes you cry
And I promise to try to make your worries go away,
even if for only a while.

You say that people can never really love someone.
That we are not capable of giving away all of our attention and affection to someone else.
I say that you are a liar

I have loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.
And trust me, I love everything about you.
The way you look so confused when you don't know what I'm talking about.
The way you song, even though you clearly can't.
I love that you remember the tiny little things that I don't.
I'm sorry for that.

I would gladly give you all of my own being if you asked for it.
Or even if you didn't!
I pray that I know you as well as I think I do.
You are more than a friend to me.

When it rains, and there's lightning, I remember to not go outside because you said I would be electrocuted.
Even my memory is dedicated to you.

You are written in the bruises on my skin.
I have given you my skin
The worst of my insecurities.
What more can you ask for?

Or rather, don't ask.

I will wrap up my fears, loves, dreams, insecurities, and longings in a simple brown box and give them to you.
They were yours anyway.

So if that isn't love, if giving yourself completely to another person, isn't what you think love is, then I have nothing else to give.

But if I did, if I did, trust when I say that they are yours.

Angie-
       ​fickle, effervescent, esoteric, impatient.

Relative of writers and hedonists.

Lover of spoken word poetry, packing peanuts, and emergency exit row seats.

Who feels that words mean so little yet so much,
       ​you will almost always **** at something the first time around (it's okay),
       ​the 10,000 murderous butterflies attacking her stomach when she sees him.

Who needs the TV on, no matter what,
​       to hear that she is not crazy, everyone else is,
       ​the time to just sit and read for a change.

Who fears that she really does fail at life,
       ​the huge spider she's sure lives in her closet,
       ​the actual use of physics and calculus in real life situations.

Who gives away advice like guidance counselors are supposed to,
​       away hair ties like pencils,
       ​love like its cheap.

Who would like to see an actual shooting star,
​       Sarah and Phil Kay(e) confess their undying love to each other,
​       the Doctor be happy.

Resident of Underland.

Acuña

I'm lost in this heart crushing sea of emptiness that resonates from you.
Like the waves of an ocean
it ebbs and then crashes again
reminding that I may touch the sand
but I'll never hold it in my arms for more than a few seconds.

Do you remember that night that you stayed up, trying to find some way to cope.

When you turned and screamed into your pillow, desperately seeking release.
                                  
Once you sat next to me and talked about nothing. I listened and let you vent.
                                                  
Or when you called me at 2 in the morning to tell me that you were too scared to sleep. Sometimes the worst monsters were in your dreams.
                            
You probably don't remember when you laid next to me, staring at the night sky, hoping for a wishing star.

Do you remember that day in class when I first saw you cry. You ducked your head in shame, but left invisible puddles everywhere you stepped. Maybe only I could see them.

One time, you stood in the center of my living room and sang the most beautiful, heartbreaking song I had ever heard.
                        
Or how about the time when you said you loved me, but never meant it.
                                                            
I bet you don't remember the night the shiny silver blade  ran across your pretty little wrist, leaving behind bright red lines that stayed for weeks.

Do you remember when I finally left?
You didn't even try to stop me.

The black and white butterfly is now stained red and purple.

When I was 16 my mom decided that the best way for her to feel good about her body again was to get plastic surgery.
Now my mom was always beautiful.
She was petite, had a tiny waist, full hips, and an overall curvy body.
In my eyes, she was perfect and I would've loved to look like her.

But she was unhappy.

Her stomach wasn't flat enough.
Her thighs too big and lets not even talk about the **** she felt was too small.

So cut, cut, cut away.
Tear her open.
Take the undesirable parts away and throw them out.
Never speak of them again.
But add some there.
Too little.
Not enough.
Don't worry about the person under all that skin.

Make them pretty again.
Make them pretty again.

And now look at her.
Hunched over because "beauty is pain."

And the butterfly tattoo on her lower back bleeds and red and purple, the colors of her bruised skin.

I hate when I ask for the time and someone will say "oh it's 5:30", when in reality it's 5:26

I know that it's four measly minutes and it may not seem like a lot, but why cut corners?
I like knowing the exact time because I know how long my favorite song is and if I can listen to it in the span of three minutes and twelve seconds while walking to class, I will.

My mind simply cannot deal with the fact that someone just lied to me about the time.
Time! Of all things.
Time is precious and we all want more of it.

If we had all the time in the world, we wouldn't worry about a **** thing.
I wouldn't worry about the fact that it takes me 13 minutes to straighten my hair.
I wouldn't worry about the time that it takes me to get to school, which is 23 minutes on a good day.
I wouldn't worry about being late to church because it takes me 32 minutes to get there.
I wouldn't worry about the fact that I got to the hospital 4 minutes too late and now, now there is no time left.

I like my time, you see?
If I were given one last chance to spend from 5:26 to 5:30 to spend with the person I loved most in the world, and then you said "its 5:30" , then I'd know I was too late.
It's not just about fast forwarding my time, it's about me knowing whether I have enough time to fix my make up one last time or listen to a song or just hug them for 7 more seconds.

It's about being able to say I love you, one last time.

Dear Sir,
I hate you.
You don't realize just how much I hate you, though.
Why can't you see that I just wanted to help you, kind Sir?
To help you move on and see your true potential.
Alas, you shot down my inspirational words, and instead dug your own grave deeper, Sir.
The problem, you see Sir, was that you wouldn't let me in; couldn't let me in.
You were broken beyond repair.
My soothing words would never have helped.
So it is with regret that I announce my departure, Sir.
I hope you don't search for me.

Sincerely, Yours.

We're fine right?
You and I?
Most of the time we stare at each other trying to find the right word to say.

But we don't so it's just easier not to speak.
Trust me.
It's not.

I think we forgot how to coexist so now everything is just awkward stumbles of "Hello's" and "No, you first's".

But it shouldn't be like this because we were fine, right?!

You, you were my best friend, my diary.
Diaries don't just grow legs and walk away so why did you?

I don't think you realized this, but I fell in love with you.

At least I think it's love because no one else makes my heart best like this.
No one else makes me break the laws of science and have butterflies in my stomach, terrorizing as they please.

Please tell me that you also feel this way because I can't stand it any longer.
I despise the thought of being the only one in a battle with my heart.

So once again, we're fine, right?

Dear No-One,

Someone misses you. It's just one person, but hey, it's Someone. No-One spent their whole life believing that they were Nobody. No-One had no one. No one other person who they could tell their secrets to. Nobody would listen. But now, No-One has Someone! Someone who will listen to to No-One's secrets because No-One isn't Nobody. No-One IS Somebody. In fact, No-One is Someone's Everything. No-One is all Someone thinks about. Someone watches No-One and feels the Loneliness rippling off of No-One like a stone hitting water. Someone knows exactly how No-One feels and wishes to ease the ache, but... Someone is scared. Someone is broken but desperately wishes to help. So Someone will try to overcome their fear if No-One wishes to break free of the Loneliness. Someone will try. Someone wishes to befriend No-One. Someone wishes No-One will accept.

Sincerely, Someone.