Earbuds ❥ a novel. (#Wattys2017)

23: Congra(d)ts.

23: Congra(d)ts.

Congrats, mystery boy. I mean this in two ways:

1.) Congrats on finally graduating. You've done it. It's over: the drama, the loneliness, the everything. High school, the crappiest part of someone's life besides middle school, the awkward next-to-last phase of a person's educational career, the four drama filled and sexually trying years of a human's course of life is finally fricking over. Here's to you, senior crush. Goodbye forever.

2.) Congrats on at last shaking me off. You've proven yourself stubborn and unpleasantly aloof, and for that reason, I submit to your wishes and will never think of you again. I'll probably unfollow you on Instagram after a while, since you're obviously a ghost who admires but never interacts with other souls. Props, Bus Kid. Props.

You could say I'm angry, and you'd be right. Others in favor of my good looking opponent might say I am being unreasonable, stalker-ish, obsessive, and petty. Maybe even that I am a spiteful human being that is too quick to judge and is impatient. Well, wouldn't you be, too, if you admired someone so much that you wanted to be with them but couldn't because they're a lizard who keeps too much to themselves and effectively shuts out the world with earbuds? Yeah. You would. Having a crush is infuriating, but can be distinguished into three main stages. They are:

1.) Realization. The tip of the iceberg, the calm before the storm, and when the innocent rosé color of the cheeks begins to flourish whenever one is near the object of their desire.

2.) Acceptance. The giving up of dignity, sanity, and all things good in life. The securing of handcuffs, the leech, the whatever stage. It's done.

3.) Denial. Here, stage two goes to hell and is forgotten. You're not in love. Love is a painful and frivolous emotion that often takes more than it gives. Usually, a stage four of Recovery follows this one, but not always.

Finally, you're out of my hair. I'll never see you again. I'm so glad, because I hated you. I hated your essence. I hated how you made my heart flutter with a simple glance. I hated you, and I hope you stay far away from me, forever. I hope I forget about you, but that you never forget about me. I hope I plague your mind and thoughts like an incurable disease, like you did mine. I hope you will feel for someone else what I felt for you. I hope it ends the same way: she leaves and you're left fuming and as lonely as you were before. I hope she too, like you, has her earbuds in.

And so, with this double-entendre congratulations, my book concludes here. For the guys who have read this, keep this in mind: don't be like Bus Boy. If you're worth anything, you'll not keep a girl running in circles around you for sport. Notice her struggle. Help her out of the anxiety hole and into the friendship boat, at least. And for goodness sake, take out your earbuds.