Dear No one,
Thinking about you makes me really sick, and even as I'm writing this, though I couldn't eat anything today, I'm having trouble composing myself.

Your best friend messaged me again. So did she. I know at one point that would have made you angry, but I hope now you just use that information to know where you stand among your surroundings. Keep yourself safe. Or don't.

I took drugs last night and told you that you were a liar, and you told me my hair looked nice, and that you wanted to touch it, and I believed you.

So if I can believe that then I should be able to believe you when you tell me "it's me not you", but who would

And what's so sad is that you don't know anything about me. You don't know any books I've read, my favorite flowers, what my parents were like when I was little, how I felt about my mother, or myself, or you.
So you don't know that I sat down. I got comfortable. I kissed you of my own accord and allowed myself to think of you often in the most innocent ways. Think of you writing songs, or sleeping. No longer did thoughts of you ******* her and forgetting me plague my mind.

And then you told me you were scared of commitment.
And then I promised myself that you were nothing, and no one, and that I did not feel for you.

I did not feel for you.

I did not feel for you.

You are no one and I did not feel for you.

(But if you're no one, then what am I)

I know I shouldn't, but I hope I scarred you, and I hope you think of me often.

I hope you miss me when someone smokes a black, or crosses their eyes.