Dear Boy -
Everything is beginning to fall apart now. You asked me what is wrong today, and you let me lay my head on your shoulder, but I can't tell you what's wrong. I'm crazy. I can't tell you that I cut myself last night, you would think I'm weird, and maybe you wouldn't like me as much.
Things are beginning to crumble underneath me. People are starting to learn that I like you. Josh got angry yesterday because I wore your corduroy jacket. He wants to know what's wrong with me. I can't tell him. I can't possibly tell him. He can never know.
I've thought of telling you. I have an entire scenario that plays out in my head. It's usually the optimistic one. We're sitting in your car. You ask me what's wrong, and I tell you that I have this crush on a boy I'm friends with. You ask me who, and I hem and haw, but finally whisper "you." You seem stunned, but smile. I avoid making eye contact while incoherently mumbling some sort of explanation, but suddenly you put a finger to my lips. I abruptly stop speaking, and you lift my chin so I am forced to look at you. You smile at me and tell me it's ok, that you feel the same way. You kiss me. Everything is perfect.
If only optimism had a basis in reality.
- Belle

December 7th