Along the Lines of a Letter

Dear Love,

I met a boy about a week ago. It’s funny, but I met him the day after I wrote the last letter. His name is Michael Loveless, and is a lineman on the football team and plays right field for the baseball team. He has auburn hair and brown eyes, broad shoulders with thick, muscled arms, and a smile that makes my heart flip. Standing taller than me with shoulders twice as broad, an incredible sense of charm, and undeniable self confidence, I thought he was everything I could want. We grew close, and quickly, and I started falling. It turns out that it doesn’t take long to become attached enough to have your heart broken. One week was all it took this time.

He won’t talk to me anymore. It’s as if I didn’t exist to him, as if I was never a part of his life. All because I wouldn’t sleep with him. He would try to say otherwise, but when it comes down to it, he wouldn’t wait, and I wouldn’t lost my virginity to a guy I had only known for seven days. It tore me to shreds to walk away, seared my stomach to see him turn away as I tried to hug him goodbye, made my heart stop as he left me, broken, in the streets, watching as he went back inside.

I wish you were here to hold me and tell me that he isn’t worth it. I wish I knew you so that I could curl up in your arms and have you kiss me, and let that kiss erase the heartache, because if you were here, he wouldn’t matter. If you were here, it wouldn’t matter that he has a blonde already attached to his arm, and it wouldn’t matter that I listened to “Almost Lover” and “Better Than Me” repeatedly during third period. He wouldn’t matter, if you were here.

But you’re not here, not right now. Someday you will be, but not right now.

I miss you. I love you. I wish you'd find me soon.

With Love,

Somewhere