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Teen Fiction: 'Dear Sarah Whitestone'

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This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, the online community writing site for young readers and writers.

By Alex Knight

Dear Sarah Whitestone,

I didn't mean it. I never imagined what it would cause.

The truth is, I've been crazy for you since our freshman year in high school. Remember when we first met? Well, maybe you don't, but I sure do. A senior was picking on me, and you told that stupid guy off. You rescued me. From then on, you were my knight in shining armor.

You saved me from things other than bullies. You saved my pre-calc grade sophmore year, you saved my pet fish, my physics notes... The list goes on. You were always there for me. You were such a great friend... and more.

I don't think you understood just how crazy I was for you. It made me giddy to see you walking down the hallways. I got tingles every time you touched me. The daisy that you wore in your hair every day made me smile...

And that scared me. It scared me that I could be so head over heels in love with another girl. You know my parents, Sarah. You know how they are. You know how our entire school, our community feels about gay people.

Of course you do. You were the brave one. You stood up for yourself. You were fearless. And I was jealous.

I thought you had everything. You had yourself together, you didn't care what people thought. I was jealous that you could be comfortable with yourself, when I could barely live with myself.

Remember when you pulled me into the janitor's closet? Our first kiss. I thought I died and went to heaven. It was the most amazing thing I had ever experienced.

And then the pricipal walked in on us. Midway through our second kiss. He was horrified. His reaction scared me, Sarah. I blamed you; I said you attacked me. You didn't deny it. Why didn't you? It was just my word against yours, it shouldn't have gone anywhere.

But it did. It got out of control. Sarah, the dyke. Sarah, the girl that traps girls in the closet.

You got shoved into lockers and harrassed in the hallways. You stood up for yourself, and you pretended their words didn't hurt you. But they did; I could tell that it was eating at you.

The abuse went on for months. You started to wear long sleeved shirts and jackets when it wasn't cold. You lost your smile, you were more quiet than usual. You stopped wearing your daisy.

I was a coward, and you paid the price.

I wish I stood up for you, I wish the principal hadn't walked in, I wish so many, many things.

It's been a year since our first kiss, and I miss you more than ever. People tell me I need to move on.

But I can't.

I loved you more than anything.

Meg