Roughly a year ago, I wrote a series of poems. Currently, there are only two in the "Schoolboy Letters" collection, but they were written about two weeks apart because in those two weeks, I mourned a classic high school heartbreak.

The first poem, "UNTITLED LETTER 001," addresses an unknown "Sam." I used a gender-neutral name and wrote long and hard without any gender-identifying factors because it's a scenario almost every high school lover can relate to, and who am I to limit the feeling of a moment? I was in a low place emotionally to write this poem. It focuses on my pain of feeling "known" just to be left. I never sorted through the heartbreak except to a friend or two, but it's different. This poem was my bottle out to sea.

In a specific line, I mention that it was blood donation day at my school, and normally, I like to hold someone's hand -- not because I'm scared; I just like it. But, I go on to tell the imaginary Sam that I would not be holding their hand that day, even though I wanted to do nothing else.

Well, it was my plasma donation day, and I didn't have anyone's hand to hold. Even though I'm from Texas, which is as south as it gets, the day went south quickly. In the day's situation, if Sam would have offered a hand, I would have held it regardless of everything I wrote in the following poem, "UNTITLED LETTER 002." I told Sam that I was finally used to the lack of their response, but I guess when I sat in the plasma room, I wanted to hold a hand.

There wasn't a single one in sight.