Dear Riley,

         This is a short letter :O
I can't come to 4th period band.
I want to smoke
I want to be with you (wink wink).
I want you.
I love you
You're my everything.

                         I love you,
                          Joe

I'm sitting in my first period class
Eating half a bagel
And drinking my tea
I'm wearing my boyfriend's shirt
Which I drenched in his cologne this morning
I'm checking my English page
And looking at all the assignments I missed
And marveling that I got an 86 on the exam
I'm thinking about when I have a band period
And what class I should miss for it
I'm sitting in my first period class
Where the board projector might be broken
And I'm hoping it is so we don't have to do anything
I'm thinking about the dream my boyfriend told me he had last night
And thinking about how great it would be to actually happen
I'm looking at the bagel that I said I was eating
But in fact have  not unwrapped from its foil
And the tea I said I was drinking
But in fact have not opened the lid
I'm sitting here wondering when I'll be sick next
Because I'd really love to miss some days of school
And for once have an excuse to not do work

I find it funny that
Our band director
Noticed that I was happier
Before even I did.
He noticed how happy you made me
And I made you
Before it registered in myself.
That first month
Before we started dating
Was filled with
Tears and suicide and sleeping too much
And bleeding and those nights of
Sobbing to you.
And you to me.
You saw me cry
Before you asked me anything.
I saw your scars
Before we shared a kiss.
I guess, once in a while,
There's the storm
Before the calm.

yes
as the evidence shows
i know how to
and can
play the piano
that instrument borrowed
five years of my life
which it kindly gave back
when we parted ways--
we decided to keep it casual--
five years ago
so it's no wonder that
although I play the piano
i'm no piano player

The thick grey sky
Reaches down
And wants to cuddle.
It wraps around me a chilling blanket that I,
Nor anyone else it seems,
Is able to shake off.
The thick dark sky
Sees our reluctance
And begins to cry his
Frozen tears.
The trees feel like being heroes
So they,
With their stiff hands to the sky,
Try to console him
And stop his crying--
To no avail.
His tears sting
When they fall onto my face.
They bite my slowly,
Acidic,
Eating away at my warmth.
He'll go on moaning and crying
While his attempts to befriend us are
Wildly rejected,
But really,
It's his own fault.
There's no one to blame
But himself.

I don't have my black pen today and it's killing me.
The blue ink is murdering me.
I'm so dramatic, remember? ;)
So how have you been?
I like all your new clothes,
The sweatshirts and stuff.
Except the drug rug;
That still makes me a little uncomfortable.
But I can get over it.

I've been pretty good.
I was failing English a few months back.
I'm better now!
Have you done any of the Macbeth diary project?
I haven't. Glad she gave us that extension.
Hey, I started Breaking Bad a while back.
NOW I GET THE HYPE.
It's so good.
Only on season three, though.
P.J., Doug, Claudia and I
Want to have a Tremors movie night.
(Honestly, the idea's been thrown around for months.)
You should come!
Do you even know what Tremors is?
It sounds AMAZING.
Well, actually,
We all paid for the movies.
But maybe you can just mooch off me and come anyway.
You'd love it.

People keep trying to be Joe's and mine
Third wheel.
I wish it were you.
You were my favourite third wheel.
You're so good at it!
I guess I'll just deal with the ones I've got now.

I'll be honest,
It has been rough since you left.
I've been crumbling significantly lately,
Missing you a lot more.
Joe's been helping,
Really well, too.
I was a hot mess before he started helping me.
I think you two would like each other,
If you got to know him.

And I . . .
I cut myself again.
More this time,
A lot more.
Go on, yell at me and storm off
And ignore the problems.
But I've stopped
Again.

I don't like it when you yell at me,
In case you haven't gathered.
It's so scary,
The only time I'm truly terrified of a person.
All the anger surging through your arms. . . .
The anger in your eyes. . . .
Your eyes are angry all the time.
You have the fiercest green eyes. . . .
ANYWAY, I'm off topic.
How are you doing in Algebra?

The moon yawns:
yet another all-nighter for him.

He wants to rest
but our dreams are too interesting for him to miss.
How can he sleep
when all these beautiful things are being woven before him?
He must stay up and read them.

He's so focused on our dreams
that he can't see the holes in the sky.

The holes the stars are burning.

He can't see them,
and it's for the best, really.
Let him be,
peacefully content with reading our dreams.