Let Me Just Say

I think I've always hated you. I remember in grade school, how you would

pull my pigtails and told everyone I had cooties. Even

the girls wouldn't talk to me after that. Mom would tell me "it's just a little boy's way

of saying he likes you." I remember asking why you couldn't

just give me a cookie, now that's real love. But I'll admit, initially, I thought

you were cute, until you opened your mouth. In middle school

you would ignore me in class, but once we got off the bus you wouldn't shut up. I liked

our little after school chats. You'd show, only me, your love of cats.

Particularly Flufferkins, our secret calico kitten we hid in your shed and how we

cried when our mothers said we couldn't keep him. How, in high school, you would

glare at me in class after I got my first boyfriend. You made me feel wanted

only after you couldn't have me. When you told me to dump him. How sullen you looked

when we held hands. So let me just say I've always hated you for never grabbing my hand

while you could. For trying to break us up when you offered nothing in return. For the day

you gave up and smiled wishing us the best of luck. I think I hate myself more-

too chicken to act when you failed to make the first move. But I can learn

to love this new man. After all I never believed in love at first sight.