Love Of A Teenage Girl ✔️

| Chapter Two |

Dear Diary,

Whenever I hear his name being spoken my heart begins to melt into a puddle of goo. A wonderful, sticky, warm puddle of goo. Sometimes the window to my bedroom will open and he'll be there, smiling so brightly, but then my eyes will open and he fades away, proving it was merely a dream. A cruel dream that only breaks my heart and makes me realize what could never be.

He makes me feel whole and complete. It's a tragedy, really - a heart-crushing realization that he will never be mine, and I will never be his. The bane of my damned stupid life ...

I often asked myself why I've fallen for you; is it impossible to be in love with someone who isn't mine? I'm in love with you because you're my special someone. You're incredibly stupid, immature, and blind to other feelings, but you're also talented, funny, and unique in all your childish ways. You were the one who read those love hearts to me, and in my mind that's all I'll ever be able to see.

He can never be mine, but I'll always let him have me as his own if he wants. At any given time, at any given place, I will always take the honor of being his. His and only his. He's stolen my heart and he has all the rights, and my permission, to keep it forever.

My existence is incomplete without him. He is my other half. He is the best piece of me, the keeper of my heart.

I faintly remember my life without him, and I don't know how I ever survived. I was happy but never truly happy. 

I didn't have someone to talk to at all hours of the night, I didn't have someone who could come over and watch movies with me if I was scared of the storm outside, I didn't have anyone that made me feel safe, and I didn't have anyone who made me feel loved. Until you emerged into my lonely life.

They always say love hurts but it doesn't. Love is a beautiful thing - being in love is what really hurts.

We have taken loads of photographs together - a delightful group of mementos for me to look at when he's not around. In those pictures, we are both beaming and happy together. I can imagine that I am his and he is mine ... at least until the bitter reality of life slams into me, reminding me that this is merely a thought - a dream if you will - and we will never become one. We will never be together. But they give me a moment of harmony, a moment of happiness, a moment of stability into this cursed world. Even if we will never be together, I can always dream.

I can always lay on my bed at night, holding my phone close to me as I close my eyes and think of a happy life he and I would have together. It is so vivid in my mind: a gorgeous house on the top of a grassy hill a white picket fence that surrounds the house; a beautiful French wooden door that opens up to the large living room; three little kids we can call our own; and a loving dog that protects them as we, in turn, protect it.

Unfortunately, I am not the girl he desires. I am not the girl he fantasizes about the way I do him. I am not the girl with the glossy golden blonde hair, nor am I the girl with the brilliant blue eyes that even the ocean is jealous of. I'm not the girl that catches everyone's attention as she passes by.

I am just a simple, ordinary girl with impossible dreams and a future that I know will never be.

I am just me- the girl who is a jumble of dullness, boredom, and insanity. The girl who dreams to be the girl he dreams about. He can only love me just the way I am, but the idea is not only sick - it's absurd.

He is not Bruno Mars, and I'm not the beautiful and selfless girl he describes in his song 'Just The Way You Are'. The music video makes me want to be in her shoes.

This isn't a fairytale, either. I am not some beautiful princess locked away in a tower and he is not a dashing prince who comes to save the day. He will always be my prince in my dreams and I will always be his princess there too. He will never know how I feel and I am okay with that, just as long as we stay friends.

The hard truth hurts nearly more than I can bare.

To add to my current insanity, I can recall the precise date I fell in love with him:

August 20th, 2015.

It's nearly been six months.

Six months of loving him ...

Six months of dreaming of him ...

Six months of thinking about him ...

Six months of imagining us together ...

Six months of fantasizing of the moment when he'd finally ask me out ...

Six months of hoping I am the girl of his dreams ...

It's been six months, and I'm in exceptionally deep.

I have never fallen in love before - I never really even believed love existed - but just watching him, catching sight of him for the first time, made me realize how wrong I was. How painfully ignorant I was.

Love does exist, and its a beautifully tragic thing. I feel like I am on top of the world whenever I am with him; he gives me life and makes me feel whole.

I wish I could say I do the same to him. My love. My heart. My soul. My everything.

I love him.

People call me obsessed, and I don't blame them. Perhaps I am because that's what love does to me. It's an obsession and an addiction. My addiction might crush me afterwards, but I don't care. Let it destroy me - it's worth it. Loving him is worth it. Imagining us together is worth it. Crying over the truth is worth it. He is worth it.

That probably makes me the most arrogant person on earth, but I am addicted. I am addicted to him. He is my cigarette. My alcohol. My weed. Even if I desired to stop myself, I can't. I can't stop loving him. It's impossible because no rehab can fix it.

He's like a drug and the heart wants what it wants.

The first time I looked into his eyes my whole universe flipped.

I don't just love him; I live and breathe him.

He is my moon.

He is my sun.

He is my world.

He is the center of my universe.

My entire galaxy.

I die a little inside whenever I visualize him with someone else, the thought causes my heart to crumble. I have begun to pick up all the tiny sharp fragments and I tuck them away in a special place. I keep them close even though it hurts to, and every reasonable part of me is telling me to let go, but I can't.

Is he ever going to love me?

Will it ever not hurt to love him?

Dear Him,
I Love You ...
A lot.

Love,

Your Secret Lover.

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I'd like to dedicate this to its-totally-ok  & littaff & staraquatic & cellowarrior13 because they helped me edit this chapter! Please read their books because they're great! Please vote too!
Thanks!