{6th may 2012}

dear jen,

i want someone to love me just like the beast loves belle.

with the same passion and angst and wholeheartedness, and i find it a shame that people like him don't exist.

not in real life, anyway.

i'd like to be like belle too, i suppose. i like reading, like her, and people find me strange as well, but i'm not anywhere near as gorgeous or beautiful or handsome or anything and i look terrible in yellow. it's a pity that people like her don't exist as well. i have never met someone who looks anywhere near as good as belle does in yellow.

i don’t think I'll ever find someone who'll love me like beast loves belle.

i most likely won't be able to love someone back like belle loves beast.

it doesn’t matter though, people like them don’t exist.

{7th may 2012}

dear jen,

the thing i want the most at this very moment is to be beautiful.

i want to be gorgeous, stunning, and absolutely radiant.

it's superficial, petty, and stupid, wanting to be beautiful, but i want it so desperately, jen, i really do.

i don't believe in beauty being in the eyes of the beholder, because i've seen so many beautiful people, and i honestly don't think my eyes are that wide.

i'll tell you something, though, i don't believe in ugliness, either, not at all.

so does that mean I don't believe in beauty, if I don't believe in ugliness?

i'm not sure.

you're beautiful, jen, you honestly are. in my head you are radiant, and out of my head you are too.

i want to be beautiful like you.

i will never be anywhere near beautiful, jen, and that is a fact of life.

i'd like to think that maybe my personality is beautiful, but it isn't, not really, it's dirty, absolutely filthy with dark thoughts and feelings and secrets, and i don't think i'll ever be able to clean it.

and that's where the problem is, isn't it, because if i'm not beautiful on the outside and i'm not beautiful on the inside then i'm not beautiful at all.

and i want to be. i want to be beautiful.

and it's stupid and petty and so so superficial, this wanting to be beautiful, and i want it anyway. but i want doesn't ever get, i've known that since i was small.

and i will never be any where near beautiful, jen. that is a fact of life.

{11th may 2012}

dear jen.

i think my friends are getting worried. perhaps i should stop writing to you?

but you’re my friend too.

you’re different, though, i suppose. you’re the friend i whisper my darkest secrets to. i can feel them polluting this paper like spilt ink.

i don’t think they understand, jen. you’re my relief.

i talk to you when i’m nervous and upset and tired. you listen. you don’t ask for anything back.

i don’t mind giving back. i’d like to think i’m not that selfish (although, i sort of am). but it’s nice to take sometimes, just take, even though that isn’t how life works. but that’s why it’s nice to take, because that isn’t how life works, not at all.

i don’t like how life works.

i’m not really sure where I’m going with this, jen. i’m not really sure where i’m going with any of this.

should i?

i think i’m going round in circles here. it’s not like you’re here to answer these questions. i have so many questions, but i haven’t found anyone who can answer them, not yet.

i think that i thought you could answer my questions, jen, when you can’t.

{12th may 2012}

dear jen,

i’m writing to you again.

i suppose i should tell you where i am now, jen, and make this seem more than what it is (which is me telling you these things and you listening, or rather me pretending you are real and listening when you're not).
i’m at school. it's sunny. the boys are playing football and the girls are pretending not to watch them.
i've forgotten my book, so i am writing to you instead. it's hot as well as sunny, but i'm wearing my jacket and hoping people don't notice me.

but people do notice me, because i exist and i'm not invisible and i go to school and do this, write to someone who won't read the letters about fatness and disney characters and beauty and i think that if you ever read these you would look at me and suggest that i go see someone, but very gently and sincerely, because you are that kind of person, you know, jen.

and maybe i’d listen to you and maybe i wouldn't. i'm not sure what i would do.

i think i tell you i'm not sure about something at least once in each of these letters.

i have a lot more things to tell you, jen, and the words are in my mind but i can’t really put them out. i think they look very different, spelt out in front of me. They are cruder and much, much harsher.

so i’ll stop writing now. letters shouldn’t be too long, anyway.

{14th may 2012}

dear jen,

i should be asleep, really, but i wanted to write to you anyway, i like writing to you.

the thing is, i have nothing to write.

my thoughts keep chasing me round in circles, jen, and i have nothing to write.

did you know that i used to hate the name jennifer?

i don’t any more, but i did.

i think that if you were here (if you existed) you would scoff a bit at that, because now i know that i have nothing to write. should i stop now? i don’t know. i don’t really want to.

i’ll just stop here anyway, though. there’s no point in writing letters if you have nothing to write.

{16th may 2012}

dear jen,

every day i used to count the number of times i faked a smile, but i would always stop at about midday because the number would get too big for me to remember.

i’m so tired of pretending, jen.

i know you pretend too. not all the time. but sometimes. you wear this face and smile and you even manage to keep the gleam in your eyes- you’re the most amazing actress, jen, really you are- and i have absolutely no idea how you do it and even less of an idea of how i know you do it.

this is why i want to be you, sometimes, jen, because i desperately want my fake smiles to look like real ones; to look so real even i don’t know if they’re fake.

so can you tell me how you do it?

i suppose not. you’re not even reading this.

do you know what i’m doing now, jen? i just yawned and my eyes watered and the water trickled down my cheeks. i pretended it was tears. i suppose they were tears. but i just pretended to myself that they were tears, that i was upset and that i was crying tears. so am i upset or not?

why did i do that in the first place?

i don't know why i keep asking you questions, you're not going to answer them, are you?

you're not even reading them.

maybe that's for the best. i think if you ever read these, jen, it would be terribly embarrassing. i don't even know why, i just know it would, even if all these are addressed to you and i'm thinking about you as i write them.

i'm looking back over the letter i just wrote, jen, and i'm realising that i have just managed to fool myself into thinking that you exist.

or am I fooling myself into thinking that you don't when actually you do?

i don't know.

maybe you can tell me?

{19th may 2012}

dear jen,

they're talking about me. they think i can't hear them, because i have my earphones in and i'm writing to you, but they're wrong, and i wish they weren't.

i won't tell you what they're saying, jen, because it'll be like sticking the knife in twice and twisting it round a bit too.

i'm trying desperately to ignore them, jen, because that's what you'd tell me to do, if you were here (or even knew i existed).

it’s just really hard.

i wrote that part at school. it’s not that i don’t have friends, jen, it’s just for some reason none of them were there, and they tend to leave me alone more now ever since-well, ever since six months ago.

i’m writing the rest of this at my desk and now i've made myself think about six months ago when i really don't want-oh look, there’s water on my page. i think it’s my tears, jen, i can feel them trickling down my cheeks. i’m trying to wipe them away, i really am-i don’t want to ruin your letters-but there’s more of them, and i’m not sure why, i think it’s because there’s more of them ,and i’m not sure why. i think it’s because of the hole in my heart that’s small now but will most likely get bigger.

i’ll stop now, jen, before i get the page any wetter. i need to stop these trickles and to silence the pitiful noises that keep escaping my mouth.

i'm sorry. i'll stop writing now, i promise.

{22nd may 2012}

dear jen,

i suppose i should start being the person i want to be in these letters.

the person who wrote you those past letters...

i'm not sure who that is, jen.

i've been someone i don't know for what feels like a few days but in reality is probably several months.

i started writing to you in april, i think. i don't think i meant to, jen, i was just so lonely and the words just came out onto the paper. i still am-lonely, i mean- and you're one of two people who has always been there for me when i'm lonely.

although, i suppose that the other person has left me too, now, except she didn't really mean to.

i talked to her, jen, properly, not through letters. i saw her every day and went out with her and did things with her, and all the things that i write to you about just fled my mind when i was with her.
but now that's she's not here, and i'm not with her, those things are always in my mind, so much that i've taken to writing to you to get rid of them.

except i don't really think it's worked.

{17th june 2012}

dear jen,

we don't know much about each other. let's play a game. ten things about me.

1. i'm selfish.
2. i'm self-pitying.
3. i'm ego-centric.
4. i'm arrogant.
5. i'm running out of things to tell you, because arrogant and ego-centric are synonyms of each other.
6. i'm alone.
7. i'm crying now.
8. i hate it when i cry.
9. six months ago my best friend died in a car crash.
10. i'm selfish.