You

This is to you. You, who will never read this. You, who I believe could be different. You, who promised and let me try to believe it. You, who I should have known was going to be just like everyone else I miss. You, who will never know how this feels.
This is to you, the one who made me feel like I mattered for a few short days. Who I told everyone I dreaded talking to because you made me feel so awkward. And I suppose I did, in a way, but at the same time I liked the awkward feeling because it was like everything I used to know.
To you, the one that called me cute and made me smile like I hadn't in a while. You, the one who didn't know that I really would do all those things I said maybe to. This is to you, the one I'm going to miss the most, even though you're not the one who mattered most. This is the one boy who reminded me of everything I had, and walked away because he found something, no, someone better to talk to.
Twenty Questions will be our last hurrah. Maybe some time late tonight, you'll try to talk to me, but I'll be asleep. Even if I'm a awake, and my heart pounds at the excitement of seeing your name, I might not answer.
I won't take more heartache.

I spilled my secrets, like you said I could. Good thing I never told you anything to grand. You might tell the world, and I won't want to hold on anymore.
I'm letting go of you, the one who I should have known better than to trust, because for now, you're no better than dust.