I let the burning tears that were welling up in my eyes just pour out. So many things occupying my mind: the upcoming and very much unwanted move, my mother, him, the other boy, and of course… you. And of course, as always, you’re the number one on my mind. I wanted so desperately to call you or shoot you a text or even drive to your house to tell you to tell me that you hated me and that you wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I’d come to the conclusion that it could possibly make things easier for me, and possibly even make me get over you. But I think that in the back of my mind I would know that you didn’t truly feel such a way, especially if I were to tell you to tell me such a thing. I would know that you were simply telling me what I wanted to hear, and even so, I know you wouldn’t do it. You would sit me down, question – no, interrogate is the correct word – me about what was going on and why I would demand such a request for you to tell me that you hated me. You would then tell me that you didn’t, you would take me in your arms, probably kiss the top of my head and say how stupid I was being for wanting to be hated. You would make me feel stupid for wanting such a thing, and for the reason behind wanting it in the first place. You see, you know that I like you. I know you know because I told you myself that I like you. Thing is, you never touched on the subject much, nor did you say that you like me back. And of course, being a girl, I don’t like rejection much – of course, no human being really does, and if they do they’re seriously screwed in the head – and I get self-conscious rather easily. I’m afraid to let you know how I truly feel, especially about you. I don’t want you to know that I like you. But my big mouth went and told you. So now that’s too late. But there’s nothing I can do now. Nothing at all. It’s out there.

Sigh. I want nothing more than to be in your arms… Hell, even being in your presence would do just fine. We don’t have to touch or anything, or talk, or even be next to each other. Simply being in the same room as you would make me feel so much better. At least, until I got to thinking about s***, only to get upset again, and then request your hatred of me.

You see, dear boy, so much is going on right now. You know probably about 90 percent of it. But the remaining 10 percent… It’s all a mystery, but ironically, you know that you don’t know every single thing going through my mind. You want to, but you don’t. You know that my mom is moving to the other side of the planet, okay… got that. You know that I’m fairly upset about it – check. You know that I have to move, and that it might be to Bend, 4-5 hours away – yes. You know that I’ve only been with one boy before – alrighty. But you don’t know that I was with him last weekend. {Now, if you take two people who have a history of hooking up and whatnot, and keep them in the same room over night, what in the hell do you expect to happen? Of course he’s going to slip her the meat injection… Don’t be stupid. The only stupid one is her when she’s laying there taking it and thinking of a different boy – you.} You also don’t know that I had to refrain from saying your name. You don’t know that I cried after he got off of me. You don’t know that I cried because I was thinking about you. You don’t know that I think about you all the time. You don’t know that I’m scared to move… not just for the sake of moving since this is the first time I’d be moving in my life, but because I’d be so far away from you. You don’t know how fast I fell for you. You don’t know that I feel stupid for the fact that I did. You don’t know that I haven’t fallen this quickly for someone since that boy from Nebraska. You don’t know that I love your kisses. You don’t know that I love when you sing to me. You don’t know that I listen to that song at least a hundred times a day, singing along, trying to sound even half as good as you. You don’t know that your name is my password at work. You don’t know that I lay in bed at night, cuddling my teddy bear while pretending it’s you instead. You don’t know that I love your smile like crazy, but love the way you look at me even more. You don’t know that I cry on a daily basis because of how I feel. You don’t know that you’re utter perfection. You don’t know that you’re one of the boys straight out of the movies: protective, dangerous, sad, scary, silly, romantic, tough, gentle, happy, sweet, caring… everything a boy should be. You don’t know that I remember the stupid little things about you, like that you’re “not your full self if you haven’t had eight cups of coffee that day…”

As I sit here, I’m starting to think maybe it’s the 10 percent that you do know and the 90 percent that you don’t know. I could go on all day about the stupid stuff you don’t know, but then I could sit there and wonder… would you even care to know? Or better yet, would any of it make a difference? I wonder if there’s a 90 percent that I don’t know… That maybe, perhaps, that you think some of the same things I do? That maybe, just maybe, you feel the same way?