Things I Could Never Tell You

64, 65, 66

Text #64.

March 4, 7:38 pm.

Today was as boring as it always is. This weird girl with an annoying voice came here. She was blonde, had fake boobs and a fake personality. Her name was Ashley. I thought about Laurel when I saw her. They look exactly alike. It's incredible to see how much your choice on friends and girls changed. Gosh. Everything is going reminding me of you that I'm gonna be sick. This is bullshit.

Text #65.

March 5, 6:49 am.

I think that years from now, things are gonna be different. Like, really different. If I ever have kids one day, I'll do everything differently. I want to give them everything I never had. Not exactly in a material way, but mostly on an emotional way. I want to do this because I know what it's like. I know what it's like to be different, the outcast of the class. I know what it's like how you feel when your parents say you're the cause of their stress and their tiredness. I know how it's like to not feel good enough since that's what people tell you every minute. I know what it's like to be called a disappointment. So I wanna make things different with them. They'll be happy. I'll do anything to make sure of that.

Text #66.

March 6, 8:55 pm.

I know it may sound like the silliest thing ever. But whenever I look at my cellphone, I have that small amount of hope, you know? I have it, even knowing that it's probably never gonna happen. There's a part of me that still hopes and awaits for a text or a call from you. You could be saying everything. It could even be a drunk text. It just had to be from you. I don't even know your new number anymore, but it doesn't matter. I'm sure that if you ever sent me a text, I'd recognize it immediately, even not knowing your number. But sometimes, when I lay in my bed at night, there's a part of me that says I'm waiting for something that's not gonna happen.