two strikes
10:52 p.m.

here i am again... writing you a letter that you'll never see. a letter to keep my sanity and to get these thoughts out there.

you didn't show up again. this time i really thought you would. we had made plans on tuesday and set them on thursday, but apparently "saturday morning" means 8 o'clock at night to you.

i guess you're not the only one to blame. your mom told you the wrong name (i think she smokes crack), but you still hurt me. it hurt to have my friends around when you didn't show up. they were all so excited for me and i think they tried as best as they could to cheer me up when you didn't show. i tried as best as i could not to be so sad. to be happy that i was out with friends and not sitting home on the computer.

i think i halfway succeeded.

i called you on sunday for some closure. i knew you didn't not show up to be mean, but i still wanted to know why you didn't show up. i dialed the first six digits of your number and waited before i dialed the last one. i would be sealing my fate, you know. if i pressed the last button i would be getting myself into something i might night like.

the last beep sounded under my fingertip and the dialtone turned into a ringing. your mom picked up the phone and i asked if you were home. i could hear her call you and tell you it was me on the phone. i didn't hear your voice but she came back and said you were busy. i said thanks and hung up.

i sat on my bed and wondered what you were doing. at first i thought you didn't want to talk to me because i called too much and you were annoyed by me. i sat on my bed and thought about it but that didn't seem right-- when i talked to you on saturday night you seemed apologetic that you had gotten done so late. then i thought you must have been in the bathroom or something... hopefully.

i fell asleep on my bed waiting for your call. i woke up a few hours later and thought you would be done doing whatever it was you were doing. i called and your mom said you weren't home. she asked who i was and when she found out she said she'd take a message. i told her to say i'm sorry saturday night didn't work out.

i am sorry it didn't work out. mostly i think i'm sorry for myself. sorry that i wanted you so badly and sorry that you seem to like your band more than you like me. i think it's understandable, but i haven't gotten a chance to get to know you better... you're band is always in the way.

at first when i met you and you said you were single i thought "he must have just broken up with his girlfriend. what kind of moron wouldn't date him?" then i found out what school you were from and i thought you must have had an STD or something else wrong with you.

now i think i know.

you can't commit to anything other than your guitar.

that's really sad, because i thought we could have had something good. you signed my shirt, hugged me, and gave me your guitar pick.

boy, we could have been better than sid and nancy... the perfect punk rock romance.

i think i'll give it one last shot.

third time's always a charm.

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