I don’t want anyone else to be a part of this relationship anymore. It’s just you and me, baby, and if you can’t have it that way then I don’t want to have it anyway. I gave up all my freedom for you, more freedom than you can imagine, all the freedom you wish you could have but know you never will. I owe your parents nothing, so why do they define how I can love you? I’ve paid my dues to my own parents, but because of you I’m still under their thumbs. So why am I putting up with this? Why don’t I just fly away like a bird and live my life happy because of my freedom? Why do I chain myself to you and let the eagles pluck out my organs, rip me apart day in, day out? Why?

It’s not fair. You know it as well as I, though you pretend not to be aware. Everyone else, your own brother; they can just lie, and things work out so beautifully for them. What your parents don’t know can’t hurt them, right? So why are we punished for doing things the right way? For loving each other and not trying to hide our relationship, who we are, who we are when we’re with each other?

Why am I crying myself asleep tonight, alone? Why are you working hard at your desk at midnight, worrying for the future? Why do your parents think his girl is older than me and therefore more deserving of respect and freedom, when she’s just a little girl? When I’ve lived years longer than she has, known more than she has, loved more than she has? I could tell her about love. Tell her about college, ask if she’s looking forward to being out of high school in awhile. She won’t understand quite what it means, but she’ll dream she does. I could tell her that true love does last forever, only most of the time what you took for true love wasn’t very true at all. Instead, it is she whom your parents will suggest coach me. Tell me the ups and downs and ins and outs and the way things are. Why am I alone, crying myself to sleep?

So why is she allowed there with your brother, when you have to sneak me phone calls? We’re too young to be together at midnight, but he’s too old, that means she’s too old (why can’t they see that she’s too young?) , for your parents to interfere.

Do you know what I want to do? I want to tell them.

It’s not out of revenge or spite or hate. Yes, I know your brother doesn’t like me very much. I don’t really care, though. He can date whomever he likes, for however long he likes.

I would do it for justice. It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that his underage girlfriend of a month (I really am sure she’s probably a very sweet girl) is allowed more respect and privileges than I am.

It’s not fair that you, who have loved me for three years, who has been honest with them, should be punished and held back more than your brother.

So why shouldn’t I casually mention that your 20 year old brother’s girlfriend is only 17 (if she’s even that old)?

There’s not one goddamn reason I shouldn’t. Not one reason on earth, other than that I love you, and sometimes I wish I could ignore that reason just to spite that bitter old heart of mine.

Why am I staying up late writing this, crying to myself and clenching my fists in my parent’s house, rather than being lulled to sleep by the city lights?

Because I love you.

You’ve been given the short end of the stick you’re whole life. Sometimes I think I’m the only thing you got right (that’s not vanity, its being able to accept unpleasant truths). Your parents have never given you what you deserved, yet your brother has been given far more than he has any right to even beg for.

So maybe I just want to stand up and fight for you, since you can’t do it for yourself. Yes, it will hurt. That’s why you haven’t seized justice for yourself sooner. But you know what?

In the end, its usually worth it.

I’m going to be a good girlfriend now. I’m not going to stand up for what I believe in. I’m not going to make life hell for your brother who already dislikes me, who I think is a bit of a scumbag for dating a girl he’s not even all that crazy about who is so much younger (thankfully not very much more mature than he is) than he is. But I know you love him. He’s your big brother. Yeah, he gets everything he wants and more. Yeah, you don’t even get his leftovers, much less the same. But you love him. And because I love you, I guess I can’t love myself as well as I’d like to.

God damn it all. Damn it all to hell, if you’re up there in heaven God! Can’t you taste the salty tears that fall from my eyes into your earth? Can’t you hear your daughter crying? Does Jesus see that I suffer? He suffered, he should recognize it. Let this cup pass from me. But let it be as you commanded. Let true love be as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: painful. We all have our own crosses to bear; perhaps mine will teach me humility. Will teach me understanding for those who have never received justice. Maybe I’ll go to Africa and use the power of my anger to force justice upon Darfur. Maybe I’ll go to Calcutta and save the little girls from being poisoned by their parents, perhaps I’ll find myself on the border of Israel and Palestine shouting “Stop!” to a group of amazed enemies, who will put down their weapons and embrace as brothers.

And maybe I’ll just sit in silence while your mother raves to me about how great your brother’s girlfriend is. Maybe I’ll just look up to heaven and God and I will roll our eyes together. Then I’ll pick up my cross and haul it down your God-forsaken stairs and make small talk with your brother before I heave it that splintering wood into my car and drive you somewhere to get a hamburger. I hear Golgotha makes a mean patty melt. You won’t see the crown cutting my brow. You won’t see the blood dripping down my face, the scars on my back oozing and infected. But maybe you’ll notice that my eyes are puffy, as if I had cried myself to sleep. Maybe you’ll see that my odometer is flipped to 777 and you’ll, for a brief moment, understand how I can put up with this and still be so completely perfected by you.

Why am I crying myself to sleep?

Because I’m a good person, and I love you. So goodnight. And don’t you dare tell me otherwise.