JESSE

The first person from your crowd that took a genuine interest in me. Well, not a genuine interest. You turned out to be a fraud. A player, faker, abuser. You played with my mind. You faked your 'love' for me. You abused my emotions. And yet I still love you.

Actually, loved you. By now I'm probably nothing more than a bitter memory. Chances that I'm alive at this moment are slim to none. Maybe 96/4, maybe less or maybe more. Whatever. If drowning myself can't kill me then you will. Eventually.

That Monday - three days after my birthday; 24th of April - I had a nightmare. Well, more like a terribly vivid dream. You starred in it. You told me I was a freak, I was fucked in the head. Nothing I don't already know. Then you killed me. You got a knife and dragged it up and down my skin, slashing at my face, letting most of the blood run out of me before you plunged the knife straight into my heart.

I've had that same nightmare for thirteen days straight. Well, had. Does me using past tenses trigger you? Do you finally realize what you've done to me?

You were my second kiss. Second. You may have been my best, but you came after. I'll give you a hint: it was with a girl ;)

Cheer up. This is what you wanted, right? You knew what you were getting into when you approached to me. When you kissed me. When you fucked me. I would say 'made love', but apparently it didn't mean as much to you as it did to me. It doesn't matter anymore. Whatever was between us died the morning after, when you disappeared and failed to text or call or leaving me a fucking note.

Maybe if I survive then we can work things out. Or not. Depending on whether you meant everything, or if you really had no feelings for me. 

Until then,

your birdie x