"To Kyle"

Read this one like you're a 12 y/o girl with a southern accent. Just trust me.

Photo Cred.

---

Dear Kyle, 

I remember the day daddy promised me I’d forget. 

August 15th, a Tuesday, the fourth and a half day of being back in school. I remember the grass up my nose, the dirt in my eyes, the taste—like car keys—in my mouth. Daddy promised I’d forget how bad I was hurting when he came to pull me up. But my body didn’t hurt so bad. It was looking at the kids all standing around, heart racing away, especially when I saw he was there, that stupid boy. When I told daddy the real reason I was crying so hard, he said that boy and the other kids would forget, too. He was right about that, but he was wrong about me. I haven’t forgotten anything since ever. 

But I don’t want to get too far away from what you were asking in your note. So I’ll say “No.” I’m sorry, but the answer is “No.” No. If you care, I’ll tell you why.