I never really knew how to start essays, or books, or short stories, I only knew how to start my poetry. Those were the one piece of writing that just flew from my mind when I got that little strike of inspiration and that feeling of genius. And you'd write it out and you'd see you'd just created a work of art and you wonder about what other people would think of it, how valuable it actually is, or if it's just a cheesebomb poem that makes too much gushy sense for anyone to enjoy aside from angsty thirteen-year-olds.

“How is this poem even useful?” I think to myself. I always think to myself. It's one of my few talents, to talk and think to myself. I can't speak, though, very much at all. I have this problem where if I'm in front of people and I have to use words around anyone besides my mother, I can't even think of things to say.

The only time I can recall being able to think of the right thing to say around somebody besides my family was when I was at my previous boyfriend's house, and I was very very sleepy, and we were laying down, and I was just able to tell him every little detail I could remember about my day I'd had. It was a very exciting day, it was the day of my eighth grade end-of-the-year picnic, and I could say about everything I'd felt that day, about how earlier in the day I was great, and then afterwards, my friends started water fighting and I just did not want to join in because it was about sixty degrees outside. So I went wandering in the nearby forest area that was part of the park we were at and I wrote in this little pocketbook I had and I was able to write these very nice poems and writings about what I felt at the time and it was sweet. I wish that moment never ended. I was so happy.

He's still my favorite person in the world, even if he's changed, and now he wears dresses in public and calls people dumb to their faces. He knew how to kiss right. And he was so close to me. And he held me right. And he would know what to say sometimes. It wasn't a movie relationship, but it was good enough for me. I really still care about him. In the wrong way. Which sucks for me. Because he's moved on. And because he never really loved me even though he said he did.

You know, I had this dance that year, the eighth grade dinner dance. It wasn't really a dinner dance. There was dinner, but nobody really ate it. Everybody ate before they got there. The food wasn't good, anyway, it was finger food you pick up and eat while there and the actual dance wasn't that good either. There were only a couple groups of people dancing, and it was really quite awkward. Nobody knew any of the songs that were playing. The songs were all rap. I spent most of the time outside the gym room and in the little garden area right next to it, talking to my friends. But his eighth grade dance, it was really amazing. There were pop songs, so even if nobody knew the song that was being played you could actually dance to it. And everyone there was dancing. Like, almost everyone, all the time, and nobody cared about anything and it was really great, according to him. And he just kept talking about it and being so happy about it and I was there, talking to him, saying things like “Dude, your dance is so awesome, why did mine suck so much?” and he obviously didn't get that I was jealous and just sad about that and that he should shut up. Even his pictures of the dance were better than mine were.

I just really end up missing the way we were together, and how he would flop my arms around, and snuggle up to them and say, “I'm going to keep these.”

And I'd laugh and smile and say, “Sure.”

He made me so happy. But he also made me very sad. So I guess it's a good thing we broke up but I care about him so much it's hard to believe it's really a good thing. I enjoyed all the time we spent together, but it was awkward sometimes, and I think I just made up all the goodness in my mind. Yes, he is lovely, but he's not for me. Some people can sit in silence and have it not be awkward but for me, it always seemed awkward. It seems that way with everyone, that those little silences are amazingly awkward. We weren't perfect but I wanted to believe we were. You know? And I'm only fourteen, so I guess I should shut up and get over it. There will be other people, and things, I don't know, I felt like he was an amazing person, and there is no one better than the person he was, but we weren't perfect together. Does that make sense? I hope so. But that's my point. He was a beautiful guy when we were together, but he didn't get me, not completely, and he didn't love me, not really, and we weren't ready for a relationship together, or he wasn't ready for a relationship, or I wasn't really ready for a relationship like I thought I was, but I'm glad that I did have him for as long as I did. And that's what I miss most right now, is that we were very close. At least, I felt close to him. I'm not sure about how he felt about all this, but he definitely still is my best friend. To me.

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