a shining sports car, not a junky pick-up truck.

I just realized... I've liked you pretty much for...8, 9 years. Ever since we professed our undying love for each other on the bus one day in second grade, I've felt some thing real for you. We never spoke again until freshman year. We still don't speak that much. I asked you to watch out for my sister today and help her find the bus when I wouldn't be there. You agreed politely and happily, as you always do.

Do you remember that day too? Or am I just remembering it wrong? Because here's what I remember, in bits and pieces, the leftovers of what's been dusted over by time: We're sitting on the bus together, in springtime of second grade, and... I confessed that I liked you. And then you confessed right back. And I blushed, and you didn't kiss me, then it was my stop, and I got off, and we didn't speak again for seven years.

Now you like her, you've been dating her for a year or so. It hurts how you write how much you love her on facebook and it pops up on my newsfeed. I'm happy she's moved to Cali so I don't have to put up with you two holding hands and kissing all the time. I know it's selfish of me, to not want you to be happy.

But let me explain myself. Just... no one notices me. Othe than you, no one's confessed to liking me, except... ugh, I won't even go there, it's just too... ok, i don't want to be mean. I'm like... the spare friend, the crutch to lean on, the shoulder to cry on, that girl who will do anything you ask her, sometimes even just one of the guys. No one sees me for what I really am. I am secretly a shning sports car, the one everyone wants to drive. I mean really. Everyone sees me as the junky old pick up truck, who no one would pick over the sports car... unless they were doing like work or something.

come on. She's in California! I see you kind of eyeing that other girl too... but she's just a bubble head! You know who's really good for you? Who's liked you secretly, so secretly I barely even knew it myself... Come on. Come on. Just... do something. I can't make the first move, again.

ugh what am i even saying. i just needed to rant. it's not like you'll ever read this, or understand, or pick me over the bubble head.

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Wow, you really read all that? Danggg. Props! =]

Well, I see you've just had the imponderable joy of stumbling onto the blog of an 18-year-old girl who can't really describe herself in 500 words or less, such as in little text boxes like these. She didn't intend her blog to really become so much like her online diary (she was hoping it would have an interesting, helpful purpose to serve the world and all) but blogging is just kind of fun. This girl's a bit of an environmentalist and a full-tilt vegetarian, a bit of an artist who can't draw, a bit of a writer who can't find time to read, and a completely hopeless romantic. She enjoys white chocolate, coloring, wading in creeks, music, Doctor Who, and speaking in third-person when it's unnecessary like this.

Now go read the rest of the blog and meet her, if you like of course. :)