Dear Boy,

It's just me. You know, the one who loves you? No? Oh. Well, I have to tell you something

I could be so much better for you than her. I love you more than she can, or ever will. She hurts you all the time and I pick up the pieces even though it hurts me, because I can't stand to see you sad. I know you love her, and I know you need her, and I want you to be happy, so even though it kills me, I always help you pick up the pieces, and put yourself back together, because when everything is fine again, you are always so happy.

But it could be so much better.

When she hurts you, I hurt, because I know I would never do petty things like she does to you. When you fight, I vow to myself if you are ever mine, I will never fight with you, even if it means I am always wrong and you are always right.

When she makes you smile, I find myself wishing I was the reason behind it. When you talk about her, I wish it was my name you say so reverently.

You talk about her like she is so precious, and so perfect, and everything you ever needed, and ever wanted. I could be that too, if I ever got the chance.

I supposed it's too late now. She has you wrapped around her finger, and you don't seem to mind.

So I'll put on the same face I always do, and smile through it all. Only when I'm all alone will I ever break down and do the things I do, but you don't need to know about that.

So, I just wanted you to know, I could be everything for you. But if it makes you happy, she can be everything, and I can be nothing.

I'm okay with that. Really, I am.