I've stopped telling people that I like him, and oh, what a difference it's made.
When my old friends start giggling like we're still in Jr. High and ask who I have a crush on, I make a comment about Zac Efron in Hairspray, and if they push for more I just say, 'No one.' Sure, if they pressed a little harder I would tell them all about the boy who stole my heart in the 10th grade and opened me up to world in whole new ways. I would tell them about watching movies in his basement, nearly convinced that he was falling in love with me too, and I would tell them about his blue bedroom walls and his bookshelves. I would tell them about the promises he made, laying on hammocks, him talking and me just nervous. Gosh, I would even tell them about how hard it was to look at him for months, and how we barely talk, and how he said he valued me though I don't even know if he cares anymore.
The truth is I'm doing a lot better. I haven't cried over him lately, even though he still hurts to think about, and even though I write about him and about us in the hope of feeling something. I don't need him the way I used to, or miss him the way I used to. See? Better.
And I can't be certain whether I still like him or not, but I know I don't love him the way I thought I did, so it's easier to say I don't like anyone. It's easier to pretend I never liked him at all. It's easier to say "no one" than to choke on his name.
