dear boy in the back of the classroom,
you came into school angry today. is it because it's raining? you've always hated rain.
or is it because of the kids by the bike racks? lukey, i will protect you from them if it's the last thing i do.
you just sat down and put your headphones in, blasting some motionless in white song through your headphones.
i'm smiling as i write this because they've always been one of your favorites, one of our favorites.
twenty minutes passed and i looked at you for those entire twenty minutes.
you looked at me and you asked, "why are you always staring at me?"
i shook my head and smiled, coming back to you in my words.
you're beautiful, i feel obligated to stare at your acne and your scars from popping your pimples, and the way your eyebrows are so fucked up but they look fine anyways.
you don't gel your hair up anymore, i love it natural. you did it too much when we were sixteen trying to look "cool". we looked like douchebags.
now you look beautiful, and shit, i am so in love with you.
you don't talk to me anymore, though.
from, boy who loves writing about you.
