Denice's blabber
This is from Denice's journal, I've kind of stole it. but she is so magical with words, and the situation described here are more or less me. so...
Blabber.
Now see here. I am very aware of the fact that no matter how many times I look at your Facebook profile, or read the stuff you litter the web with, you shall not fall in love with me. No matter how much I stalk you online, there is no way you shall like me that way. No matter how long I stare at your picture. No matter how many ways I imagine us together. No matter how many reasons I come up with to justify this unsettling feeling. No matter how much “evidence” I present on your maybe liking me a bit. Reality is, you still would not like me that way. And honestly, I’m fine with it. I’m just not fine with this useless overthinking; like chewing a gum that has long past lost its flavor. It gives me a headache. But I can’t seem to stop my mind from going at it. It’s worse during times when there is no reason for me to remember you; but I do. You come out from nowhere and your face would flash before my eyes, clouding everything else. I’d suddenly remember your smile, something you said, something you did, something connected with you, no matter how vague and indirect. And I’d smile. Or I’d laugh, even when I’m alone. Or even when I’m not alone, which makes the laugh even more awkward. I can’t believe I like you, when you don’t even fulfill the first few tenets of my standards. Maybe this is just me being flattered by the attention, but really. You’re bothering me more than I would like. Not that it’s your fault you’re always on my mind. It’s not your fault that my first instinct on whatever you do is to pretend that it’s about me, even when it’s not. It’s not your fault I’m a frickin’ ashumera bitch, that hopes and hopes that you like me that way too (and secretly thinks that you WERE jealous and that flatters me and gives me hope as well, but it’s really useless to think about it; it just pops out of my brain.) But you don’t. And I know that. Because there is no sense in you liking me. You’re too cute and everyone wants you (which I know is not fair. It’s like there’s a pressure for you to choose and be in a relationship, when in reality you could opt to not be in one. It’s a frickin’ free country.) and I cannot compete with all of them. Somewhere you have met someone like me, so there is no chance of my ever impressing you, so I try not to even bother. Plus, you flatter everyone anyway. You’re a huge flirt: which is not bad at all, but really, it confuses girls (especially ones like me, whose lovelife and self-confidence are very malnourished). When you text me, or when you say things that don’t really sound so platonic, part of me goes all happy and giddy, while the other part is cursing you for doing this, and not meaning it. I can go over and over with my girlfriends all the things you did, and all the things you said, and still it would not mean that you like me. None of it means anything until you tell me you do.
Now see here. I am very aware of the fact that no matter how many times I look at your Facebook profile, or read the stuff you litter the web with, you shall not fall in love with me. No matter how much I stalk you online, there is no way you shall like me that way. No matter how long I stare at your picture. No matter how many ways I imagine us together. No matter how many reasons I come up with to justify this unsettling feeling. No matter how much “evidence” I present on your maybe liking me a bit. Reality is, you still would not like me that way. And honestly, I’m fine with it. I’m just not fine with this useless overthinking; like chewing a gum that has long past lost its flavor. It gives me a headache. But I can’t seem to stop my mind from going at it. It’s worse during times when there is no reason for me to remember you; but I do. You come out from nowhere and your face would flash before my eyes, clouding everything else. I’d suddenly remember your smile, something you said, something you did, something connected with you, no matter how vague and indirect. And I’d smile. Or I’d laugh, even when I’m alone. Or even when I’m not alone, which makes the laugh even more awkward. I can’t believe I like you, when you don’t even fulfill the first few tenets of my standards. Maybe this is just me being flattered by the attention, but really. You’re bothering me more than I would like. Not that it’s your fault you’re always on my mind. It’s not your fault that my first instinct on whatever you do is to pretend that it’s about me, even when it’s not. It’s not your fault I’m a frickin’ ashumera bitch, that hopes and hopes that you like me that way too (and secretly thinks that you WERE jealous and that flatters me and gives me hope as well, but it’s really useless to think about it; it just pops out of my brain.) But you don’t. And I know that. Because there is no sense in you liking me. You’re too cute and everyone wants you (which I know is not fair. It’s like there’s a pressure for you to choose and be in a relationship, when in reality you could opt to not be in one. It’s a frickin’ free country.) and I cannot compete with all of them. Somewhere you have met someone like me, so there is no chance of my ever impressing you, so I try not to even bother. Plus, you flatter everyone anyway. You’re a huge flirt: which is not bad at all, but really, it confuses girls (especially ones like me, whose lovelife and self-confidence are very malnourished). When you text me, or when you say things that don’t really sound so platonic, part of me goes all happy and giddy, while the other part is cursing you for doing this, and not meaning it. I can go over and over with my girlfriends all the things you did, and all the things you said, and still it would not mean that you like me. None of it means anything until you tell me you do.