Fourteen.

It's my age.
It's young.
It's how old you have been for almost four days.
By the way, Happy Birthday.
It's one of the reasons I am so disappointed in you.
Your fourteen year oldself, so ready to grow up.

You love him? You're 14.
He loves you? He's 14.
I just don't understand. Right? I have never loved a man like you have?
Man?
He's a boy. You're a girl. Not much more than that.
And It's not love. It's fake. False. Not real.
Like your "relationship".

You gave yourself to him.
At 14.
Fourteen.

I thought you had a little pride.
What about that respect lecture you gave to another girl two years older than us. Who hadn't even done what you did.

At the end of the day, dear, you're a kid. Who made a mistake. You'll see when you have grown up a little.
Because you are far from it, no matter what you did with him.

Fourteen.
Your age.

Honestly.
You won't even talk to him by the end of ninth grade.
Yes. Ninth grade.
That doesn't sound so adult to me, although you think it might as well be your last year of college, seeing as the way you act.

Serious.
You act so serious.
But you shouldn't. That relationship isn't real.
You act like it all matters.
You won't remember his name in ten years.

Shame.
It's a shame.

But you love him, right?
I sure hope so.