Dear you,
So my mom bought me you. For my birthday. I'm probably never going to write to you again. So don't get your hopes up. So.
I guess I should tell you my name. Well, scratch that. I hate my name. Call me B. Sorry I'm so indecisive. Mom's always nagging me about it.
Turning another year older isn't very exciting anymore. It's like "CONGRATS! You slogged through another year of life without dying." Looses the appeal after a while. I used to like it as an excuse to hang out with my friends, but this year my friends have decided to start acting like asshats so I'd rather spend the least amount of time with them as possible. Going out to dinner with my family and getting presents is still fun. Unlike some teenagers, I don't hate my parents. Shockingly enough.
If I saw them more I might, but they work a lot. I don't mind because we don't get sick of each other this way. My dad gave me money. My parents are flying into NY tomorrow so unless my older sister comes home I'll have the house to myself all week. God I can't wait for college.
-b
YOU ARE READING
Dear You
RandomBased off a Tumblr post suggesting someone write a book but the main character falls in love with the reader. Well, I have decided to be someone.
