I stare at the ceiling.

I hate it.

I hate myself.

I hate everything.

I let it get to this point.

And why?

Because I was okay with it.

The music of a song I don't recognize blasts through my headphones.

I sit up and look at the wall as I bring my knees to my chest.

I let all this happen.

I knew he'd laugh.

I knew he'd think I was joking.

I knew when the year was finally up, when we started high school, he'd be gone.

I love him.

He forgot me.

Now I sit in my room and stare at the ceiling.

One missed call.

One voicemail.

"Hey Kyle. I know I said a lot of things,  but I didn't mean any of them. You said things too, and I can guess you didn't mean those.... So, uh... Give me a call if you want... But I'd rather you didn't. I just don't want to leave things like... This."