[Insert Thoughts Here]

I used to write in a journal. Ages 12-when I realized that writing what I was thinking was too painful. It was good for me, for a time to avoid thinking about the confusion and the hurt that I felt. It was all too real for me then. Wow, I perceived the gray clouds would never lift, and I'd be doomed to mediocrity for the rest of eternity. Not exactly an uplifting thought. Gradually, I began to see through the haze.

I liked a boy. I learned to like again, even when I was not happily attached to the individual with whom I had quite strongly believed I would spend the rest of time.
He liked me, for a day. And it was painful to see my like would be unrequited. But, still--I liked a boy.

I was honest with a boy. I learned again to care for someone, even after I'd been hurt a second time. This time, instead of keeping the hurt to myself when unrequited began to define the relationship, I spoke to him about the way I felt. It did not influence his own thoughts for me. But still-- I was honest with a boy.

Then something happened...when I couldn't bring myself to let go of the boy with whom I was honest. I realized I needed to distance myself from him. I was going to tell him I could not spend time with him until I stopped caring about him. I didn't have the guts, until he informed me he was moving away forever. How convenient. And now--I'm over him.