Utterly confused
What is wrong with me? I hate his guts. Really, I do. He is the most horrible, abominable person. . .and yet. . .
I can't help but notice how he looks at me. I can't help but wonder if his hope for forgiveness is legit. He gave me a flower today. . .it was Queen Anne's Lace. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
Yet. . .I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be his friend. We're the two smartest in our class. What would it be like if we were to pool together our talents instead of fighting against each other? Do I even know why I hate him anymore? Is it worth my energy to hate someone who obviously doesn't hate me?
Why does he keep insisting on trying to be my friend? Why does he have to be slowly cutting away at my anger? And then just do something to add to it?
I'm not talking about being in love with him; that would be ludicrous. I just mean. . .
I've never cared what people thought of me. Or. . .at least not too much. I suppose some what I've always cared, because you have to care if you want friends. But I've only really cared about girl friends. I never even cared about what boys might think. I don't care what he thinks about me as a male specimen. But. . .well, the other boys I go to school with are so. . .dull. I think with him I could hold intelligent conversations. Diana is a dear girl and I love her very much, but. . .she doesn't always see things the way I do. I wonder if he could. I wonder if he likes poetry. I wonder if he hears the secret languages of the plants and animals. I wonder if he "gets it." Now I'm just being silly. Of course he doesn't. He couldn't.
I can't help but notice how he looks at me. I can't help but wonder if his hope for forgiveness is legit. He gave me a flower today. . .it was Queen Anne's Lace. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
Yet. . .I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be his friend. We're the two smartest in our class. What would it be like if we were to pool together our talents instead of fighting against each other? Do I even know why I hate him anymore? Is it worth my energy to hate someone who obviously doesn't hate me?
Why does he keep insisting on trying to be my friend? Why does he have to be slowly cutting away at my anger? And then just do something to add to it?
I'm not talking about being in love with him; that would be ludicrous. I just mean. . .
I've never cared what people thought of me. Or. . .at least not too much. I suppose some what I've always cared, because you have to care if you want friends. But I've only really cared about girl friends. I never even cared about what boys might think. I don't care what he thinks about me as a male specimen. But. . .well, the other boys I go to school with are so. . .dull. I think with him I could hold intelligent conversations. Diana is a dear girl and I love her very much, but. . .she doesn't always see things the way I do. I wonder if he could. I wonder if he likes poetry. I wonder if he hears the secret languages of the plants and animals. I wonder if he "gets it." Now I'm just being silly. Of course he doesn't. He couldn't.