All these words I ******* wasted on you, an obscene amount of sentences that were tipped in your name. Time spent behind a pen that could have been spent in times better. All the words I spewed to you, every ******* tear shed, will be lost in the Bermuda triangle of other girls you tried to conform to your own twisted self image.
And all along, you were just some ink in a pen I was trying to bring to life.
******* for making me create an imaginary love.

This is a lot more formal than writing it out for you, besides you usually can’t read my handwriting anyways. I’m sure you’re sick of my notes by now, but later in life they might matter, or we might break up and burning them might be part of your healing process. Being with you has changed my life drastically, in the best way possible, I didn’t want to live. I had no hope for my future, I felt as if I was standing three feet in cement and I was sinking fast. And then a man with ******* comments came into my life for whatever reason, and changed me for the better. I want to succeed, be the best woman possible for you, though I make you mad at times because of my quick temper and tendency to befriend a bit too many guys, I appreciate you in more ways than you can ever imagine.
I have never met a man as kind as you, or a man who cares so much about the people he loves. Loyalty has always meant something to me because I never had it; the amount of people that have been disloyal sickens me at times, for I was the one to believe they were something different. Yet, I found you; you are the most loyal man I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Being with you feels different, I have never craved the attention of anyone before, but having you with me eases whatever pain I’ve felt in the last couple of days. Our relationship has been something I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world; you’ve accepted me as myself and loved me for my flaws. I am but a plain girl to be frank, I am not extraordinary or exceptional, but holding your hand, or lying next to you, makes me feel beautiful for whatever reason.
I haven’t had the courage to tell you ever story in my head, or blurt out every thought in my head for I fear I am partially insane. You put up with me wishing I was a leaf, theories on dead birds, and the habit of my resting in too many trees. Just the fact that you’re willing to climb trees with me, or explain how beautiful crows are, makes me fall so deeply in love with the person you are. I understand at times why so many people adore you, as beautiful as a person you are. Being without you feels like two thirds of me are missing, as if I have ghost limbs and I keep reaching out to see if you’re there when you’re not. I love you immensely, though I love you doesn’t compare to the way I feel, words or actions can’t describe who you are to me.
You treat me as if letting me go would be the end of the world and I thought I didn’t understand that until I think of the thought of you leaving. Thoughts like these steal my breath away, and the ground beneath me, because losing you means losing a part of whom I am, and that is terrifying.

And I swear to God if you feel the indent where my body has been laying on this forsaken empty bed, it'd be warm. But I'm not warm, I'm not even warm when I'm fogging up the windows in your backseat, and sometimes you wonder why my nose is so cold while it's pressed into the spot between your shoulder and neck. I have no idea what I'm doing here, or how the hell you're still holding my hand, I've chained you to my wrists and told you to stay.
I've been able to pick your flaws like flowers and the petals spelled 'I love you' but they smelt like poison.
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Sometimes, all I want is to be called beautiful, I don't care if you mean it or even if you don't, I just want to feel pretty for 3 seconds. Would that be okay?
And occasionally, I want long kisses in front of our friends, because, well, I'm staking claim. And what hurts about talking friends with you is the fact that I left a part of my life at  the doorsteps of my friends houses for you. But you still skipped 2nd hour with her because she was lonely and you couldn't bear to hear about that. Well excuse me of my tendency of feeling misplaced, I'll just end up in the backseat of your car anyways. Once in a while, I want to feel your stare at the back of my neck so I can pretend I don't feel it and try to read your mind, for I do this too frequently, and you ask why I'm staring. As if you weren't beautiful enough to stare at, as if the world wouldn't dim without you.
And taking two steps back from you feels like diving three feet into cement, because I'm so ******* stuck.

I'm trying to write about your hands, but you're pushing me away, and the electricity they contain become a solace to my dismay.
If barriers were people, they'd share your name.

I remember when I was in the hospital and I didn't sleep for two days straight because I swore to god that if I did the demons would step out from under the bed and seep into my head.

I remember when it was three am, and I was shaken awake from the girl three doors down shrieking from the night terrors that her mother embedded into her skull with her fist and a belt when she was eight. But, they were then stored away until she was thirteen years old and a man swore that he'd beat her if she didn't cooperate. So, now they hide during the day, and creep back up when the sun falls.

I remember when I witnessed a boy unintentionally scratch at his skin until he bleed for an hour because the voices inside of his mind told him that if he didn't hurt anyone else, he would just have to hurt himself. and he swears he'd never hurt anyone besides himself.

I remember when I met a girl who had cuts up and down her arms and legs from when her mother told her she'd never survive the world because she isn't good enough. But, I swear to god that she was the strongest person I've ever met.

I remember when my roommate stayed up all night rocking with bloodshot eyes and deep purple circles underneath of them because she swore that if she slept the monsters inside of her head would crawl out and bleed into her soul.

I remember when the boy five doors down hit the wall so hard that it shook the entire unit because he hallucinated a man and a little girl trying to strangle him, and he swore he could feel the noose around his neck.  

even through all of this, for some odd reason teenagers think it's lovely to have deep scars and to hear voices telling them to **** themselves and everyone around them. I swear, nothing is lovely about demons eating at your brain and thoughts.

I remember when it was four am, and I was up weeping from the fact that people think my suffering is lovely.

I can swear to you, it's not.

Baby, you're such a tease, with the way your smile tilts to the left, and your eyes lower when you're 'hungry'.
God had a plan for you, a plague to the female race, I admit, meeting you set me on edge, left a scorch across my ribs when you teased me. Slowly, I was being inflicted and begged you to **** the venom out.
And now?
The only thing screaming your name are the hands on the clock.