Punk 57

"We were perfect together. Until we met.'_x000D_
I can't help but smile at the lyrics in her letter. She misses me._x000D_
In fifth grade, my teacher set us up with pen pals from a different school. Thinking I was a girl, with a name like Misha, the other teacher paired me up with her student, Ryen. My teacher, believing Ryen was a boy like me, agreed._x000D_
It didn't take long for us to figure out the mistake. And in no time at all, we were arguing about everything. The best take-out pizza. Android vs. iPhone. Whether or not Eminem is the greatest rapper ever..._x000D_
And that was the start. For the next seven years, it was us._x000D_
Her letters are always on black paper with silver writing. Sometimes there's one a week or three in a day, but I need them. She's the only one who keeps me on track, talks me down, and accepts everything I am._x000D_
We only had three rules. No social media, no phone numbers, no pictures. We had a good thing going. Why ruin it?_x000D_
Until I run across a photo of a girl online. Name's Ryen, loves Gallo's pizza, and worships her iPhone. What are the chances?_x000D_
F*ck it. I need to meet her._x000D_
I just don't expect to hate what I find._x000D_
--------_x000D_
He hasn't written in three months. Something's wrong. Did he die? Get arrested? Knowing Misha, neither would be a stretch._x000D_
Without him around, I'm going crazy. I need to know someone is listening. It's my own fault. I should've gotten his phone number or picture or something._x000D_
He could be gone forever._x000D_
Or right under my nose, and I wouldn't even know it."