George Washington was the subject of my poetry. He had been for years, and that made no sense considering how little rhymed with George or Washington. But plenty rhymed with Sticky, like icky or tricky. So why had I tried to make words like love fit instead? It was never going to work. So why hadn't my heart gotten the crummy message yet?

The past was behind me, and the future seemed brighter than ever before. Honestly I felt guilty for dwelling on those painful memories now. I felt guilty for the familiar ache that filled me at that very moment. Now that I understood just how truly alone I was back then... (Kaynie)

The paper was yellowed and still seemed to smell of lemon juice. The old scent caused a stir of emotions inside me, as if it transported me back in time somehow. I was only fourteen then...and maybe I was just too used to mysteries to accept that a hidden message had little to say. But I wasn't a boy any longer, so why should I be bothered by a boy's disappointments? (Kaynie)