He doesn’t know that he writes to me. He has no idea that his words run through me like an electric shock. They throw me off kilter.
He doesn’t know that he writes about me. Sometimes she’s so similar that I’m embarrassed of her mouthy remarks. I never blame him for punishing her, but something makes me want to scream to him, “I know better!”
He doesn’t know that I read his words with my face really close to the screen. I stop to catch my breath. I shake my head, unsure why he’d think I’d do that, who he’d talked to, and how he knew.
Then I realize, he doesn’t know me at all.