Whiskey I [m.yg]

12.

I have tons of things to say to you, but my mind is a mess.

I've been a mess ever since that day... that day.

Anyway, anyway, February 7th, you dated someone.

You kept on talking about him and I would rather not write his name, because I could rip this paper and burn it after seeing his name written on it.

I hate him. I hate him so much.

I don't only hate him for hurting you, but I despise him for swooning you and distracting you for a year and two days.

My memory never fails to surprise me. I seem to remember everything about you, but nothing about school.