Tuesday, June 30, 2015

No. 5

     The first boy that I loved lived down the street from me. He hardly knew my name, but I'd watch him walk down to the bus stop every morning from my bedroom window.  I could never tell anyone what I felt for him. I'd just write in my diary over and over again, "I love ________. I love ________. I love ________." My best friend found my diary when she went digging through my closet looking for an old CD that I had buried. I walked in on her staring at a page where I had played MASH and all four choices for my husband were his name. I immediately grabbed the journal from her, and as much as she pleaded that she knew nothing, I couldn't believe her. She must have not been the best of friends because somehow another girl in our circle had found out. It wouldn't have killed me that two of my friends knew who I had a crush on, what stabbed my back was when he found out. He said, "Ew, she's weird." We were only kids and he was right, I was weird, but I could never look at him after that. He moved away the next school year and I never saw him again.
     I met the second boy in my 6th period class. He sat next to me because our last names were right next to each other. I don't really remember much about him. I can't remember our jokes, his voice, I can barely even make out his face in my mind. But I loved him. That's all I remember. As with the last, I kept my secret from him. But instead of telling none of my friends, I told all of them. My mistake. At the end of the year, I thought it was a good time to come clean about my feelings for him. I told my friend to tell him that I liked him and he responded with, "Yeah, I know. One of her friends told me awhile ago." I never found out what friend told. But it didn't matter because he was interested in another friend. He works at Party City now. He helped my mom find something and I walked up to them not realizing that it was him until I read his name tag. He didn't even recognize me.
     I loved the third boy because he put a smile on my face even when it didn't deserve to be there. He'd never leave me without telling me he loved me, but I just smiled and nodded because I didn't know what I was feeling yet. "Why don't you ever tell me that you love me back?" he demanded. I stayed silent on the phone. "Just tell me you love me!!" I could feel the tears filling my eyes. I knew that I loved him, but something was stopping me from saying it out loud.  I love you, I whispered as we hung up the phone. If you've read my other blog posts, you know how this one ends. We're still friends, but the tension is very apparent.
     I don't even love Number 4, romantically at least. I could never be in love with someone who loses motivation at the sight of a deadline. Someone who doesn't even meet you half way, where you're forced to give them your 110% so they don't slip through the cracks. Someone who promises to do something and then let's you down every time. You give him more chances because you think, "I'm sure he'll do it this time," knowing that this'll all fall into the same routine. But you care for him. And you love him because he makes you feel needed, like you're worth something. And although I am not in love with him, he's still has a spot in my heart. It just saddens me that he isn't able to see the great talent and potential he has to succeed and go further in his life. I only hope for the best for him.
     It only took about half an hour in one night to write everything up to this point. Now, I've spent hours of days of weeks trying to put my love for 5 into words. I'd type something up and abruptly stop mid-sentence because I knew it wasn't right. I'd delete an hour's work and tell myself, "I'm sure I'll finish this tomorrow." The next day, I'd end up sitting and staring at the computer screen watching the cursor blink hoping that this paragraph would write itself before realizing it was almost 3 am and inevitably falling asleep leaving this post unfinished once again. It's day 17 since I started writing this post and I'm getting tired of logging on every night trying to finish something that cannot be finished. 5 doesn't exist. Not yet. This is why I cannot write about him.

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