No, but he never saw me. And it feels unbalanced somehow, like he knows my thumbs and my collarbones but I know the bumps of his spine and the curve of his thighs.

But he isn’t the last person to see my neck. But he is the first. And that means a lot. That means most.

And maybe I’m not his person and I’m not his last but maybe he’ll think of me and say I let her all the way in.

Or at least I hope he tried his hardest. ‘Cause I know I sure did.

I let him see parts of me that were dusted and pale from being hidden in my basement for so long and I handed them to him with fingers webbed across my face, peeking through to see him smile to wide I thought his face would bust open and he took gratefully and he sifted through those old things, like my scar from that time I tried to make grilled cheese and burned myself and how I was so close to drowning as a kid that I almost died and he breathed those breaths when I hit the air with me and he screamed to my dad on the phone with me and he watched my rabbit Max die with me and threw my first bowling ball with me and he felt the curve of my thumb in his mouth, whether from years of addiction and sucking and biting and he got to know things no one else had.

And now they’re in boxes in his basement, and maybe they’re covering dust. But I’m not so afraid to share them anymore. I’m not so afraid to tell the story of how I was stung by bees on the ass. Twice. And that all I wanted when I was young was to be my older cousin Joey because god, he hung the moon. And how I watched him come apart when his dad died when he was nine and there was nothing I could do but cry with him, mourn with him, try to soften as he hardened, but and I pulled, he pushed and now we’re strangers.

But maybe that’s how it’s meant to be. The trucks we played with when we were three are waiting in our basements, and when the time is right, we’ll blow the dust off and watch the pieces of time dance in the sun through the window. And we’ll keep the boxes in the guest room.

For the next person who decides to rent us out.

Well, I’m done
Sitting here in the same stupid place on my couch
And waiting for something to happen
If nothing’s happened for the past seven months,
it’s because of me, and not because of you.
I’ll do something exciting, I’ll go into the city
And wear oxfords and jumpers and cardigans and lipstick
And speak in an accent and get people to notice
Because if I don’t like me, and no one else does
Then I must not be much to like.

So I’ll wear purple hand warmers and carry my uke
Slung low on my back with Harry Potter in hand
And sleepytime tea in the other
And I’ll smile at every stranger I see
And I’ll make someone’s day
Because if I can’t make my own,
then why not make someone else’s?

If I am a bore, and nobody talks to me, and I sit there quietly
Scrawling their faces into paper,
then no one will care, and what fun is that?
Sometimes the only fun part is having their pity eyes stare

But I sit on this couch, haven’t showered in days
Eyes closing at the screen, this fucking computer screen
That stares at me back because it’s as lonely as me
It’s waiting for someone to throw it against the wall
And be free
from the confines
of these robots inside it
of these robots inside me
that push pull push pull
Go through every motion and say every line
And never do anything that is in any way exciting
And I bore me
And I bored you
And I’m annoying and a prat and brat and a-

fuck you
fuck me
This is not the way it should be!
I’m sitting here doing nothing
When I could be doing anything
Anything else if I had the guts
I could spend tomorrow, fucking tomorrow
with my best friend instead of Rachel fucking Berry

Because I love these people
who aren’t even real
When real people
are waiting.

It’s electric twist, it’s a shock not a kiss.
I want to kiss someone again.
I want to wake up these dormant butterflies
They turned back into caterpillars and are crawling around
Bored and sore and sad just like me.

“Will you ever call me?”
“I-… I don’t know. Probably not. You freak me out.”
“Why is that?”
“I dunno. You just do.”
“Why aren’t you nice to me anymore? We can still be friends, you know.”
“I don’t know, Iris. I just don’t fucking know.”
“Do you know anything?”

“I loved playing music with you.”
“Yeah, it was fun.”
“So, I’ll see you next time.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you next time.”
“Are we gonna hug?”
“Ha, yeah. Sure.”
“Hey, Adam?”
“Yeah dude?”
“I’m glad we did this.”
“Yeah… yeah, I am too. It was good to see you. Take care of yourself.”
“You more. All health.”
“All happiness.”

“Hey, Adam!”
“Iris! Irisiris!”
“Haha, how is Denver?”
“You mean New Orleans? God, keep up!”
“Shut up! You move all over the country, I never know where you are! Americorps kicking your ass?”
“Always. School kicking your ass?”
“Never. All seriousness, though, is it fun? Are you keeping healthy? Diabetes being managed all right?”
“Yeah, you don’t have to worry. I’m good, I’m always good.”
“Always the martyr.” (You don’t have to lie to me, I know you better than you remember. I just hope you’re right about this.)
“And college? Are you excited?”
“Vaguely. I’m going to community college for a semester or two, and then I’m transferring out to get my teaching certification.”
“Are you kidding? That’s perfect! I’m so happy for you. You’re going to be a great teacher, I’ve always thought that was perfect for you.”
“Really? Me too. I wanted to be a teacher when I was a kid.”
“You did? You never told me that.”
“I didn’t? That’s funny.” (Anyway, you fucked Vicky a million times? Awkward.) “So, I know you’re probably busy-”
“Yeah, sorry-”
“-but I’ll uh. Haha. I’ll talk to you later, alright? Promise.”
“Sure, Irisiris. Great talking to you. Take care of yourself.”
“You more. All happiness.”
“All health.”
(Love you.)

“Get him out of my brain! I know the one year point is in four days, I know that! Just get him out!”
“Well, what else do you except to think about?”
“I don’t fucking know, anything! Anything else that’s not him! He is not the only thing I think about!”
“You can’t lie to me! I am you!”
“Whatever! We’re not friends anymore!”
“Are you seven?”
“Yes! Just, I am done thinking about him! Not worth it in the least! Just get him the hell out.”
“Will do, master?”
“Fuck off.”
“Wish I could, this kid’s a douchebag, why are you even thinking about him?”
“Wish I knew.”

Well, I really only called to say a few things. Just that I hope you’re happy. Not in the sarcastic way, but in a way that I really loved you. I still do, you know? You were my friend, my good friend. I had a lot of fun with you. I know you’re stuck in this phase where I’m this notorious villian, you get angry whenever you think about me, or someone brings me up. But, Adam, that’s not why I was in your life, and that’s not why you were in mine.

We loved each other, and showed ourselves in a different light than ever before. We loved each other, and it was beautiful. We were calmer, kinder, sweeter. I taught you the meaning of emotional love, the love that isn’t just physical. And you, in turn, taught me how to love physically. I just don’t want you to think of me angrily anymore.

I don’t want you to be angry about me. I don’t want you to think of me like that anymore. Remember, dude, we were happy. We weren’t just a figment of our imaginations. It was real.

Remember the beach? And how Chris said “guys, I’ll just turn around, and you can kiss.” And how we didn’t, even though it was Valentine’s day, on the beach.

Remember all of the songs? Crush’d and Ain’t No Rest For the Wicked and I Will Follow You Into the Dark and Overkill and Iris…

Remember our romance? You played me Iris before anything. You played it for me, in front of all of your friends, and in front of mine. You were proud of me. You really liked me. I really liked you. And I realized in that moment that I loved you.

Remember when you were afraid to read any of your poetry? And how I managed to coax it out of you? You let me read your composition book.

Remember the little things? Like when you went to go get gas and came out with a rose? And all the nicknames, like firefly and babydoll and darlin’ and baby? You taught me that life isn’t about huge displays and grandiose shows, like when I ran across the field at Scoundrel and jumped into your arms saying “I love you, I’m sorry” and you held me tighter.

Adam, I don’t want to stay hopelessly in love. I don’t want to make you feel awkward, or like you can’t be friends with me. I just… I want things to be normal. But, then again, we don’t really have a norm. We were always flirtatious. We were “just friends” for approximately five days total and then we dated. And in those days, we flirted like nobdy’s business. But, in a way, I feel like I was the meal you got when the resturant didn’t have anything you wanted, so you settled with whatever they had as the special.

But, I wasn’t special.

But, yet, I don’t really care anymore. You were special to me, and that’s all that matters to me. I just want to be your friend. Why is that so hard to comprehend? Why is it such a huge task? I want to platonically love you. Adam, you’re gone in, what, seven days? And then we’ll be done, for good, for as long as it takes. I’ll move on, you’ll move on, I might have already moved on. I never really know, after all. It takes me months to really know I’ve fallen for someone, even you.

So, the reason I called is just to say… don’t burn this bridge anymore than I already have. I still want to be able to cross over and see you even now and again. I know that we don’t know what the future holds for us, but I want there to be a chance to still be friends, real friends.

Keep me in mind, okay? Don’t disregard our friendship, because what we built wasn’t just attraction, it wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t just teenage hormones.

It was real, it was loving, it was endearing, it was happy. We don’t have to think about the bad things that happened. I think there should just be an overall effect of the relationship as a whole. Because I still think about you positively. I’m not in love with you anymore. I’m really not. I want to fix this. I want this to be good before you leave.

I want to be the only ex you actually stay friends with. We were different, we were special. We built a strong friendship underneath everything else. And once that crumbled, we still have the foundation. Don’t break that up too.

I love you, dude. All happiness. All health.

Don’t forget to remember me. Good luck.

But I’m scared. To be this close. Inside and outside. I am young. Sixteen is old, but it is also so young. I need to stay young for a little while longer. I didn’t enjoy it as much when I was that age. I want to enjoy it now. So I think I will.

Or maybe pretnding I’m little is just a defense mechanism. After all, after everything that’s happened, I keep all my checker pieces in the back. I never let anyone in anymore. Whoever was there before the walls were built, they stay there, inside. They see the vulnerable parts of me.

You were so close to finding me before any of it. God, you found me on the damn day it happened. But, after all, you didn’t. You missed it. You missed the brilliance of who I was. I really like the person I was. I wore my heart on my sleeve, I loved who I loved, I was who I was, and that was all. I didn’t need to be anyone else, anywhere else. I was little and I enjoyed it. For a few weeks, maybe even a month, I loved being little.

But then it happened. And I stopped being little. I started being seen as an adult. And that’s not a good memory to have associated with realizing you’re not young anymore.

So I pretend I’m a child.
I’m twelve.
I’m nine.
I’m six.

And I refuse to fall in love. Or be close. To anyone. Because that’s not what children do.

You poke fun and call me a baby. And you have no idea how right you are. I’m growing up, but I keep stopping the process because I can’t be growing up. I refuse to. Because then they can get me.

I love him, though. Oh gosh do I love him. He’s the sweetest thing in the entire world. I can’t stand this. I’d like to grow old with him. I haven’t felt this way in so long. I feel like the most perfect person when he talks to me. I can see us together which I’ve never been able to do with anyone else, ever. I feel weightless.

I’m always so starstruck. Like they’re a famous movie star and don’t really exist and I’m making it all up in my head. But this isn’t think anything I’ve ever had. We have a spot, we talk all the time in the phone, it’s… real. I don’t exactly know how to handle it, and it’s all happening so fast. But I’m trying desperately to keep up.

“You make me fall for you. Over and over again.”
“I already fell! Noob. <3″
“Beat me to it, huh? Well I fell multiple times. You make me love clumsy.”

You are so fucking sexy. And darling, I never say those words. Ever. Usually, sexual jokes make me vomit. But I freak out whenever you make one. You’re changing me… Into someone…

…Who can have a boyfriend.

“Why do you like girls like them?”
“I guess you’re right, they are bitchy… But they look so good.”
“Adom. You’re the most shallow person I’ve ever met.”
“…Am I really?”
“You like someone for their body. Not for their minds, or lack thereof.”
“Iris, why do you hate them so much?”
“Why do you love them so much?”

“John, may I have this dance?”
“Well… I–I don’t know…”
“It’s okay. I’m not going to take advantage of you. You know me.”
“Do I?”
“You do. Come, on, kid. Trust me.”
“I don’t know if I can yet.”
“Do something everyday that scares you.”

“Hey, Max? Thanks for being so nice to me.”
“Anytime, darling! You’re so cute! Let’s have a playdate ASAP!”
“When are you free?
“Max?
“…Max?”

Please. Please, for once listen to me. I’m begging you to take a step back from all of your realities and see what I see. I see you for the boy who writes all this poetry and lyrics that he won’t share with anybody. I see your for your music, for your voice, whether it’s singing or just expressing itself. I see you for how much you care, how much you wish someone else cared. Adom, please, cut the self-loathing. I fucking love you. More than you know. But it’s not like any of this matters.

I’m just everybody’s Jeremy.

I love you.

I like you.

I want to be with you.

I think you’re absolutely wonderful, no matter what anybody else thinks.

I think you’re beautiful.

I can’t see anybody else but you.

I don’t want to see anybody else but you.

I get so frightened whenever I’m with you.

I get butterflies whenever I see you, even if you’re 100 feet away.

I feel like I could always love you.

I get so awkward and nervous. I’m not really that weird person that I am when I talk to you. You just make me feel too many emotions at once and it’s disorienting.

I have always loved you.

“I wish I could tell you everything that’s on my mind.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Why can’t you?”