I sit in my room, reminiscing on how life was before I knew the truth. Back when I was naive and I only thought the best of people. He told me he was falling in love with me. He loved my personality, my looks, how smart I sounded. He told me I was pretty and that I shouldn’t worry about what any of the girls in my grade said.

I actually thought he cared for me and understood me. Ha! I still laugh at my denial for the truth. Everyone kept telling me, “He’s just saying that! He wants sex!” but I ignored them. I wanted to think the best of him. I was wrong, of course.

I still remember the first time we met. In a chat room, I recall. He wanted a private talk and I couldn’t help but agree. A boy wanted to talk to me. After a while we started sending each other letters. Every weekend I’d send him the details of my week and he’d send me his. How cute!

We met up one day; it was time to see my love. I was excited and happy, until he took advantage of my innocence; my naiveté.

Yet, I keep his letters.