I'm sitting on my couch, humming a sad tune while I smoke a cigarette. Will staring at the phone make it ring? Maybe if I sit here long enough, I can somehow force you to call me. I don't know. All I know is that I miss you. I miss being with you, I miss talking with you, laughing with you, everything. I understand that you're busy. I understand that you have an entirely different life that doesn't involve me at all. I thought we were in love. I thought you loved me. God knows I loved you. I still love you. I love you with every bit of my heart. I can't say it. I can't bring myself to tell you that I love you.

I went to your show last week. I stood in the audience and watched you play all these songs that I knew, all the songs that were written for me, about me, inspired by me. Or was that all a lie? Is all of this a lie? Did you make it all up? Every word you said to me, was it the truth? When you told me how much you cared about me, were you lying to me? I don't understand why I feel this way, why I feel so betrayed and so hurt.

Do you remember when we first met? It was almost seven years ago. You were sixteen, I had just turned twelve. I had a massive crush on your younger brother, but he never knew about it. I ran into you when I was at your house. Zac and I were playing video games in the living room, you had been out - on a date, shopping, whatever, I don't remember. You walked in the room, and introduced yourself to me. You were in that awkward stage of development, where you feel too tall and everything is just weird. Most would be self-conscious at that time, but you weren't. You never were. Or was that all a facade, too?

The more Zac and I hung out, the more I saw of you. When my first boyfriend and I broke up, I immediately ran to your house, to talk to Zac. He wasn't there. It was the first (and definitely not the last) time he hadn't been there for me. I remember, no one else was home. Your parents had taken the younger kids out somewhere, and Taylor was out with some girl or something. You answered the door, took one look at me - my bottom lip quivering, my eyes bloodshot, cheeks wet from tears - and took me inside. You asked me what I wanted to drink, and I remember asking for a shot of vodka. You laughed and made me a cup of steaming hot cocoa with marshmallows instead. You sat across the table from me, reaching your arm over to the counter to grab a box of tissues for me. You asked me what had happened, and I told you the whole story. Tears streamed down my face, and you gently took a tissue and dabbed them away. You stepped over to my side of the table and knelt at my side, telling me that any boy who treated me as anything short of a princess didn't deserve me anyway.

I think that was the moment I fell in love with you.

The phone rings, and it's not you. It's just one of my stupid friends asking if I want to go out. No, I don't want to go out. I want to sit here and wait for you to call me. I know you will...Won't you?