James,
I don't know if you know me, but I know you. I've been watching you.
Wait…scratch that. I'm not a stalker; I just admire you…from afar. I really like you. I really, really like you. Really, really, really like you. I actually think I like you so much that maybe I should call it that other four-letter-word that I'm scared of writing down. Don't freak out! You'll probably find that when you're reading this, there are a lot of mistakes and sentences that don't make sense- but that's all because of you. You make me so nervous. I've written so many letters to you, but I never give them to you because I'm scared you'll tell your friends and they'll bully me ten times worse than what they're doing now.
You're probably wondering why I like you since I barely even know you. I've been wondering about that too. The thing is, I've seen you around your friends and you seem like a really cool guy. And you're nice- you helped pick up my books when they got knocked out of my arms by some older students. And sometimes you say 'hi' to me in-between classes- I used to think that you were saying it to some other person behind me…actually I still think that. Do you ever see me? Do you ever notice that girl that sits at the back of every class, hidden behind her hair, that the 'cooler' kids always make fun of because she wears her skirt down to her knees and she doesn't have any friends? I guess not.
I always want to be like all those other girls. I want to be thin, long-legged and blonde. I want to have so many friends that I wouldn't be able to count them all on two hands. I want to go to all the hottest parties and get drunk and then talk about 'that party' for weeks after with my 'friends'. I want all the teachers to notice my hand when it goes up in the air. I want to have all the latest-fashion clothes. I want guys to like me back. I have all that in my dreams, but then I wake up and realize that I'm still just me and I'll never be what I want to be. Every time I remember that, a small part of me dies and I just go on living day by day ignored by everyone.
I'm looking at you now and you're laughing. You're so care-free. I want to be like that. You don't know how lucky you are…
Wait…did you look at me? I was probably just imagining that, but for a second there it looked like your eyes, your beautiful hazel eyes, looked at the back of the classroom at one lonely girl writing a letter that will end up ripped to pieces and thrown in the trash as soon as the bell goes.
Lily