To the boy I once loved, I still miss you. I still miss holding you every time I would pick you up from work. I miss your laugh that was unique but loud. I miss your good morning text and then immediately seeing you at school after I received it. I miss staying up with you on FaceTime until we both passed out and snored, or I would screenshot you sleeping because you always fell asleep with your mouth open. I miss you holding me when I was having a rough time. I miss calling you to cry about things and you immediately saying you’re on the way over to my house. I miss you coming to my house drunk dancing to Mexican music and then laying on the ground while my dog humped your legs and you screaming at him. I miss your warmth. I miss your personality. I miss everything about you.
To the boy I once loved, I hate that we aren’t how we used to be, I hate how every time you call me now, you’re drunk and you tell me you miss me and that you love me even though we’re countries apart. I hate how you will text me and ask about my family. I hate how you won’t be coming back. I hate you. I hate that I loved you. I hate that this is tearing me apart.
To the boy I once loved, do you still remember the nights we spent together? Do you remember standing outside while we smoked those disgusting cigarettes and stared up at the stars? Do you remember how we would have deep talks about our past, and our families and how we both would cry? Do you remember spending lunch with me every day even when you wanted to be with your friends because you loved me? Do you remember me at all or am I just a memory?
To the boy I once loved, my family asks about you. I have to lie to them, acting like I know how you are because just the night before you called me crying about your aunt dying and I knew telling my family would break their hearts. My family asks how I’m doing, I lie. I don’t tell them that sometimes I’ll dream about you, or see something that reminds me of you and I’ll start crying. I’ll hear a song we would listen to, and I would replay it and replay it, hurting myself even more just so I could relive those moments with you.
To the boy I once loved, I’m hurting. I’m hurting because I hate you, but if I would’ve never met you or loved you I might be dead today. If I wouldn’t have met you, I might be on drugs still or on the wrong path still. If I wouldn’t have met you, I wouldn’t be where I’m at today.
To the boy I once loved, I forgot to tell you that you may be a father. I conceived a child, it's yours. I didn’t tell you. Instead, I had sex with a boy a few weeks later and I thought he was the father. But the dates don’t match. I am too far along for it to be his, I don’t have the heart to tell him though. But you’re going to be a father by February 23, 2019. I’m sorry I can’t tell you. I’m sorry that you may have forgotten about me and you may never know your child. I’m sorry.
To the boy I once loved, I still love you. You’re the father of my child and the only one who I have loved. But that’s a memory now.