"I will never be the same, I can't even say your name! Although our time is through...no getting over you." - The Used.

Hey Football-head,

It's so hard to love unconditionally, you know? Terrible crap, all of it. Sometimes I hate it, then I realize that were it not for my love for you, I'd have turned nuts ages ago.

Now it's just that much harder because you're not even there to make things easier. Now, it's like a part of me – the only thing keeping me sane – has been ripped away.

You see, Olga was here yesterday, driving me mad, as usual, and you know what the worse part was? She kept mentioning you. Like "your little boyfriend" etc. Big Bob and Miriam do it too. They don't even care enough to realize that you moved away years ago. It doesn't matter to them if their daughter is freaking miserable and if she's lost her living, walking sanity. As you know, my parents are useless morons. I'm about as real to them as Miriam's sobriety, and that's saying something.

School isn't much better. I'm drowning in work, but I guess that's normal. Miss the days when we had Mr. Simmons drowning us in lovey-dovey crap and rainbows instead. Mostly, I miss them because back in those days, things made sense and, although I was still in the closet regarding my love for you, in a way, things were easier: Phoebe was entirely and only my best friend, Tall-hair boy was still a civil, decent human being, Curly was a twisted little freak and, most importantly my Love, you were there. You were the only reason I got up in the morning during that time, Arnoldo. Nowadays, I don't even know why I go through with it all. No matter how prestigious a college I end up attending, I know it'll never measure up to what my sister's accomplished, so why even bother? Plus, it's not like I care what Miriam and Big Bob think anyway.

Remember how I said I used to stalk you before we finally started dating? Well now I do it in a less literal way – through Facebook. Much more cliché, I know. Speaking of which, your privacy settings make me want to slaughter innocent civilians. I'm torn between asking Fuzzy Slippers to find your password and/or give me access to your wall, or respecting your lovable, wonderful privacy.

Why did I do that anyway, deleting you I mean? How stupid was I?! Now, because of my idiotic, pointless pride, I am forever forced to silently creep your cyber confessions, for the most part kept hidden from my tyrannic ways and my thirst for your love and approval, my darling.

Curly says you'll come around sooner or later and that we'll talk again. I ask him how he can be so sure and he says that with a Love like what "we" feel (and by that, he means him and I), patience is the only road to follow. He's not wrong in a way, but I can't help but wonder: is it true? Am I truly bound to be enslaved by the feelings that devour me from the inside, by my passion for you for all eternity? Was I – am I – wrong to fight it? Should I lose myself in the blissful insanity the mere thought of you brings me, or should I constantly strive to forget about you and to move on? After all, Curly isn't exactly the sanest guy there is, perhaps I shouldn't even listen to him at all. Not to mention the fact that some of his actions were really pushing things a bit too far, a bit like the time he blackmailed Princess Lloyd, even if she did deserve it. Do you even know about that? He warned me about it recently. It's the reason she pretended to date him all of those years ago. She'd stained her mother's precious fur coat, which Curly got cleaned, and he of course used the situation to his advantage.

Then again, who am I to judge the little freak? Some of the things I've done for you definitely merrit locking me up in the funny farm. Actually, as far as Curly's concerned, I should probably find something else to call him. He's no longer short at all. In fact, he's irritatingly much taller than me. Nothing worse for a girl bully than when biology takes you down and forces you back into a less violent role, regardless of whether you asked for it or not. Now even Thaddeus Gammelthorpe the King of Nerds could probably put up a decent fight against me. Talk about adding insult to injury.

I know, I know, you've always hated my violent ways and aggressive tendencies but, if you recall, this mostly stopped once you decided to give me a chance. After all, I was so insanely happy, why would I need to take out a lack of frustration or misery on anyone else?

You wanna know something pathetic? Sometimes I talk to myself pretending it's you and I teasing each other like old times, or I make up scenarios in which we see each other again. Generally, you're amazed at how much prettier I've gotten and of course, you understand that you'll never find a match for my wit and charm. You then realize that you're still madly in love with me and eventually, we either escape to some far away country together, like Canada or France or something, or you just move back here, where you belong: with me.

Anyway, I should probably stop writing in thin air. It's getting pretty darn late and, well...school tomorrow again. Yeah, I should probably stop staying up so late, but I can't help it Football-head: I just can't stop thinking and worrying about you.

You're always on my mind, Arnold, and you can't even conceive how much it hurts to think that it might not at all be the same for you.

Well, on this depressing note, I'll leave for bed.

Night, my Love xxxx

Your One and Only,

Helga G. Pataki

Well, guess I continued. Thanks for the lovely reviews, everyone! This story's great for me – it's my catharsis in a way. BTW – the chapters will vary greatly in length because, well, Helga doesn't always feel like writing a ton. Hope you still find it to be an enjoyable read. :) - CB~