Excerpt from choice #4

"More than one English teacher has told me that I overuse flowery metaphors..."

...My 15 year old self is dead. All that's left is years ahead...
Understand me. forgive me. talk to me like you would anyone else.
Your enigmatic mind is eating at the buffet line of mine.
Let me in. let me burrow deep.
it's not fair, do i think about you more than you could ever think of me?
I'm getting smaller everyday as you beanstalk through my heart.
I don't even know what i'm saying anymore.
is this love is it war? is this hate is it more?