LeAndraDawn

Dear Naive 15,  
You're ignorant as Hell.
You dress in baggy blue jeans, wear an oversized hoodie every day, and never let your hair down. Students at school, and even your mom, think you're gay… and you don't even know.
All of your classmates blame you for a burn book that circulated after that Mean Girls movie. Everyone thinks you're a jealous bitch and secretly they mock you. How can you not see that?
Your teachers are all positive that you cut yourself and that you're always on drugs. Even now you have no idea why they ask you to take your jacket off during class. Could it be that you always wear long sleeves?
It's okay, sweetheart. I had to find out the hard way, too.
Right now you're probably wishing your dad was home. He's the only one that will read your stories and tell you how creative you are. You don't have to beg him to watch movies with you, and he'll listen to your favorite songs without calling you suicidal. Right now, living wi

She falls in love with the orange glow of his cigarette in the blue night. His right hand finds hers as they fly through a sea of red and white lights, the car filled with his smoke. Their destination this night is his past that intrigues her, is the place that he finally escaped, and she's a little nervous.
Late to every destination they fumble with the room keys in the cold dark, only bother unpacking toothbrushes, lingerie, and lube. They make love in sparsely furnished motels, throw familiar clothes into unfamiliar closets, obsess over each other's bodies into sweaty sunrises and empty orgasms.
When they take walks hand in hand their age difference is blaring to others and sometimes to her. She feels so incredibly young when he talks of life's exhaustions, Jimi, and how long he's been a smoker. She suspects he feels the generation divide when she praises Lana del Rey and when she purchases the newest fashion, but--
"Goddamn, baby." He licks his fingers as he drives and she pants; t