Gifts When I was seventeen or so, I developed feelings for someone that did not feel the same way towards me. From what I'd learned in television and movies, it was the duty of the man to woo her with gifts of affection and romance. So my plan was this: I would drive out to her acreage in the middle of the night and leave her gifts on her doorstep each day of the week. Each gift was accompanied by a poem that I'd chosen for her, faux-aged with tea, rolled up, and tied with a nice red ribbon.

On Tuesday morning, she found a teddy bear. On Wednesday, a necklace. Thursday was chocolates and on Friday, there was just a note. It said to be at the end of her driveway at noon. Driving out to her home that day with a dozen roses on the seat beside me, I was as happy and hopeful as I'd ever been.

When I gave them to her, she lied. At the time, I thought she was being honest when she said she didn't want to date anyone. But later that night I found out that she started seeing someone later that day. I'd given her all these gifts that were expressions of how I truly felt, and she gave me the gift of insincerity. Months later, she tried to take it back. I'd already lost it.  ¶ 5:23 AM