Dear Norm,

Dear Norm,

"Tell me something fascinating."

Do you remember that? Anytime we'd have a lull in conversation, we'd always ask each other to say something fascinating, be it a story or a random fact or a new song. Whatever. It didn't really need to be that fascinating, either. But somehow, no matter what we said, it was always fascinating to me.

Anyway, I have something fascinating to tell you. Something that I can't even fathom. I somehow wound my way into a relationship. I am somebodies girlfriend. Obviously not a very good one since I'm sitting here writing letters to you instead of being out doing coupley things with him.

The worst part? It's like history is fucking repeating itself. You know what I mean, Norm. Don't try and deny it. It's the same kid from four years ago that fucked everything up for us, the second time around. The one that I broke up with because I wanted to be with you. The one that laughed in my face when he saw me crying at the lunch table the day you deserted me for good.

Yeah, him.

He managed to worm his way back into the picture and now it's all Facebook official and it's gross. I hate it, I hate him. I just hate the way things are right now.

What I hate the most, though, is the fact that I caved. I haven't had a conversation with you since January, more specifically since I called you a "douchetool of epic proportions" all over the Internet. I made myself promise that I was done, that I was over with you. After all, there's only so many times that a girl can get broken.

Yet, no matter how much I wish I could give you up and forget everything, I still find myself posting "So, why the hell haven't I talked to you in like, four million years?" on your facebook and next thing I know we're texting each other at one o'clock in the morning and I'm having deja vu of times that I try to block out of my memory. We're talking about everything from bass players to colleges to bugs to boyfriends (something you're not happy about, by the way) and it's like eight months of no talking hasn't affected us at all.

And I'm addicted to our late night texts because for once, I'm seeing signs of the old you. You're talking about becoming an architect, something you'd be wonderful at, and it's perfect.You have this magical spell over me. I don't want it anymore.

But at the same time, I don't think I can live without it.

Stop making me so damn conflicted. I have pages of college applications to fill out, and come June, I'm gone. Don't make this any harder than it is, please.

I still hate you
-B.