A Library of Crushes

This isn't a love story. It's a collection of almosts-aching maybes and bad decisions dressed up as something more.
There was the skater boy: raggedy, reckless, maybe the only one who ever really loved me. But I couldn't be what he needed. Four years of trying, failing, circling.
Then came the boy who stole my first kiss at eighteen in a crowded club. We talked for a few weeks. He was charming. He was stupid. So was I.
Next, the family friend-the one who kissed me softly but without care, needing someone to fill the silence she left behind. He was simple. I mistook that for safety.
And finally, the golden boy: he fit the blueprint-predictable, polished, clean-cut. Everything I thought I wanted. We both held the possibility of the L-word in our minds-his whispered with lust, mine shaded by emotional intimacy, his presence making me acutely aware of my body's reactions. There was no kiss, but still too much. One night at his place, and suddenly I was questioning everything: my self-image, my vow, my faith.
In the silence, I shattered-broken, yes, but finally whole. These were my musings, whispered truths that may never be understood, yet they reminded me that I am a writer, one who feels too deeply for those who never learned to see.
And in some quiet corner of the future, I wonder if I'll find myself tangled with one of them again. My jaded self hopes so, but my self-respect urges me to move on. What comes next hides just beyond the page.

© 2025 Janelle Turner. All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or scholarly works.

This story and all its characters are the original creation of Janelle Turner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.