Blah blah blah, I'll love you forever.
I sit here on my stupid armchair watching The Incredibles while you're probably making out with your girlfriend Carly and I'll just be in love with you until the end of time, or at least more than two and a half years that it's been already.
You're probably doing more than making out.
Don't worry, Bri already told me about you and Carly.
And I can't hate Carly. At Courtney's party last week we talked a lot, not about you, at least, not until someone else brought you up. Someone asked where you were. Then someone else said "I bet he moved." And then Carly said, "No, if Jeff moved, I would kill myself."
I don't really know what to make of that, really. All I know is that I've felt this sickening, barely-containable love and I don't know how you feel but I know that when our eyes connect there's something. Something. Goddamn it.
I wish I knew what I looked like to you. Sometimes I feel pretty and other times I feel ugly and ashamed and these letters won't do a damn thing.
I'm trying trying trying to do better. To focus on other things.
I should go. Maybe I'll write to you later. I have homework and college applications and interview questions.
Somewhat hurriedly,
Jerrica
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