A letter to the boy who led me on…

It’s been a month. A month since I’ve seen your name pop up on my lock screen, but yet a month since you have seen mine. It’s funny how silence is more defeaning than any sound in the world. And maybe silence is appropriate when there’s no words left. Or when there’s way too many.

But I have just the right amount.

During the first week of unwarned silence, I yearned for some sort of explanation. You could have lied and said it was you, not me. You could have said that you were just over us. I would have accepted it. You didn’t have to refrain from saying one word at all. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?

Because it would have burned your flesh from the inside out to see my smile crumple to dust. My eyes become dominoes, lifelessly falling to the floor in disappointment. You couldn’t bear to watch your best friend’s heart break over a player. A boy who spoke so sweetly, he could move mountains with his words.

A boy who spoke in lies. Manipulative, fucked up, lies.


All the tears you let fall on my shoulder, the nights I spent spilling my heart out to its core, the hours you held me when I needed a hug-what was real? We were friends before there were feelings. We trusted each other with everything. You acted so tough, but I swore that you were soft. You were genuine, you cared about people who didn’t even deserve it. You were different.

Or so I thought.

the truth is, I never knew you. You aren’t different. You’re just like every other cocky, selfish, ignorant asshole I have encountered.

The guy who I thought was my best friend with would have been decent enough to tell me that he was with someone else.

After I realized that she was the explanation I was looking for, I prayed that you knew how furious I was.

But you didn’t, because that’s how guys like you are.

You go around hurting girls, playing rigged games and bragging about winning them but you don’t even have the capacity to understand how bad you hurt them.

The worst part is; I still hope you’re happy.

Oh, and one last thing. You won’t ever hear from me again. I promise.


Here goes nothing…

When I was a little kid, the people I looked up to the most were talented and established writers. I loved to read books. I loved to find blogs. I loved to think that one day I could be just like the authors. Starting a blog has always been something i’ve contemplated trying. My excuse is always that i’ve never done it before. I didn’t want to be a crappy, mediocre blogger. I wanted to be good. I wanted people to read my work. I wanted to know what the heck I was doing. Then I realized that these ideas make absolutely no sense. I’m going to have to be a bad blogger before I can ever be a good one. I gotta start somewhere.

If anyone actually reads this (which frankly, I don’t even know if anyone will) you should know: My name is Maya, and i’m 16. I love to write, but most of all, I love to make people laugh. If blogging can help me do that, it will be worth it. So here goes nothing! 

Ps. Someone help me because i’m so beyond confused with how all of this works!