Insert Grunt of Despair Here

He was right there in front of me. All I had to do was talk to him, which was kind of hard considering the fact he was the first one in a long time to make me feel all giddy and nervous (in a good way). Most of the time, though, I could manage a few short sentences. We talked every day. I actually texted him, even though I hate participating in such a pointless activity. I just wanted to talk to him. He told me he thought I was amazing. He told me, and I quote, "Hi! -" and "hehe :D." I heard from my friend that he liked me. I also knew he was planning to possibly ask me out. I was starting to like him. It could have been incredible. It could have been perfect.

And then I had to go and mess it all up. I guess that's really just my regular routine.

Maybe it was because I didn't text him those nights. Maybe I said something wrong. One day, instead of walking me down the school hallway and hugging me good-bye, he just stopped talking to me. For a few weeks, he wouldn't even make eye contact with me in class. He wouldn't sit beside me, he wouldn't talk to me, he wouldn't smile at me, he wouldn't even glance my direction. And it hurt.

Now, just to top it all off, I suddenly can't stop thinking about him. My feelings seem to be growing towards this individual, and nothing will ever happen because I missed my chance; possibly even ruined it. I'm pretty sure he's moved on and found another girl whose company he enjoys, although I know he's still single at the moment. I want him to be happy, of course, but all I can think of now is what could have been if I wasn't so darn socially awkward, and that the girl he may be starting to like is not me.

Right now, I probably sound like some obsessed, boy-crazy, drama queen whom strives for attention, but my blog is the only place I can vent about such things and not be judged, resulting in multiple, nearly consecutive, posts about guys. Such topics cause me a lot of stress and frustration.

Anyway, I talked to him for the first time in three weeks last friday, as he came to sit in the seat behind me in class, which was also for the first time in three weeks. As far as I can tell, he doesn't hate me. That's a pretty good re-start, right?

You should know that he is in our school's Drama production; a production in which I am partly responsible for moving the sets, hence the reason I have to be at all the same shows as he is. Today, there was a dress rehearsal. He and I had a five-second conversation during which I probably blushed like an idiot, most likely resulting in a slightly creeped out, embarrassed, awkward, attractive, young male responding to whatever stupid remark I previously made towards him. What made it worse was that his costume for the scene was a suit and tie. That always gets me. (Something about a well-dressed guy is like the icing on the cake for me.) Then I get even more awkward (which I didn't even think was possible), causing him to sense my awkwardness and, on top of him already being awkward, proceed to a whole new level of awkwardness almost as bad as mine. Then what do you get? A couple of awkward, red-faced, uncomfortable, nervous, teenagers. Awkward, right?

Switching directions to look on the bright side for a moment, I guess I should be thanking him for letting me realize that I have managed to get over my past. For the first time in a long time, I felt something towards another guy and I think I'm ok with it. Having a heavy weight of sadness lifted off your shoulders can be a wondrous thing, and he allowed me to experience that sensation once again.

Maybe we still have a chance. Maybe he hasn't completely given up on me. Maybe I will end up happy. I know those hopes are just mere possibilities, but for now, they're all I can afford.

Written Paradise

I love to read. It's as simple as that. I would rather burry my nose in a novel for the day than go out into cold reality and be amongst society. If given the choice of going to a party with all the cool kids or staying at home, on my personal reading couch, with a great book in my hands and hot green tea on the table beside me, I would probably choose the latter.

Something about being able to escape the real world and live within pages, right next to my favourite characters, comforts me. It's soothing for me to be able to start reading and, in a sense, enter another space or reality and ignore whatever is actually going on around me. My mother, I'm afraid, doesn't seem to find the same pleasure in it as I do because she, for one, hates being ignored (even though I honestly can't help it… most of the time…) and having to repeat the same statement more than once; but I assume most mothers are like that. When I read, it feels like I, even if it's only for a moment, seize to exist. Instead, I take my stand inside the book, following the characters on their countless adventures. In my mind, I could reach out and feel this written world as if it were the one I were born into. Honestly, I think I prefer it that way.

Almost every time I finish a book or series, I either feel a grand sense of elation and pride, or I fall into a quiet, thinking state where I go through each event in the book, wishing my life could be somewhat as amazing as what I've just finished reading. It almost gets depressing at times. I start to feel lonely because I don't have a story-book romance, grand adventures, countless exciting mysteries, or what ever traits or powers one of the characters may have had in his/her little fantasy world. Once the cover closes, I get whisked back to reality. Boring old reality. Boring old me. Nothing special, barely tolerable.

Maybe the only way to escape these feelings are to fight back at them with a written world of my own. This time, though, I will take the place of the main character, although probably under a different name. The pen will be my paintbrush, the paper an easel. I will finally have power over my own life, even if it doesn't really exist. I can be free to dream and transfer my musings onto the paper. Words. That's all I need. Words and maybe a little bit of time.

Maybe real life would be better if it weren't real life at all.