Helmet Hair is in a play. He's at Courtade putting on a show as I type this. He plays a pimp, and girls are hanging all over him as I sit here worrying. I'm not sure why it bothers me. He even said last night it's just acting, babe. I know. But it's wrong. I don't want them touching him. I want to be touching him. It's not fair. I made the mistake of asking if they were pretty. First he said "you tell me." then he told me about one that was "pretty good looking" named Elizabeth. She gets on the ground and wraps herself around his legs. She has a boyfriend, and Helmet Hair hopes he's there. I'll be there. I have to watch in agony as this girl my boyfriend thinks is attractive gives herself up to him. I wonder if he likes it. I wonder if I even cross his mind while she's at his feet. I'm being ridiculous, I know. But I don't like it. He says I will. I haven't even seen it yet, but I hate it already. I hate him being gone. I miss him. I want him. I need him. I love him.
I got a hug this morning and a I love you. I want more. Give me more. please.
We talked on the phone for over two hours last night. We talked about his play, and his band, and we laughed about stupid things that only we would understand. I think we made plans to hang out after school today, but I'm not positive. I just want to get in his truck, go to his house, hold his hand, do anything. I just want him to be near me.
Today: The way his hand lingers, intertwined with mine as we seperate and he whispers "I love you."
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