Through the inevitable amount of time I spent on social media, I met you. I was happy to meet you, and dream about being with you. We spent hours talking, planning plans that wouldn't actual happen, and sharing deep secrets. It was heaven, I couldn't be happier. And then I realized how in love I was with you. How often you crossed my mind, or how much I wanted to tell you my latest life updates. It kind of blew me off balance for quite a while.
I originally first met you in real life, through a friend. We were total strangers, but you walked with me because I was with her. We laughed and goofed, and my friend kind of became the third wheel. I felt bad, but I was enjoying it too much to care. You were tall and lean, an absolute dream. You made that summer day great, one of the greatest that whole summer. That's when I got your information, so I could talk to you again. That's where I really fucked up.
I should have called that day a day, let it slip by, and I would have if I knew how it would turn out. If I would have know how much it hurt to be in love with you and never be able to have you. The fire that licked at my heart and flowers that clogged my lungs and butterflies that ripped open my stomach, it fucking hurt. You made my brain goo.
We could spend endless hours talking online but you wouldn't talk to me in the hallways at school. You acted like I wasn't there, like you were looking at air. It fucking hurt. I wasn't able to handle any of it. While the pain was pain, it reminded me how much you made me feel. I was intrigued with you, absolutely in love with you, and I was just an internet friend.
So, this is our story. The ups and downs to it all. I can't handle it in my brain, so I'll put it down for the world to read. You've fucked my life, screwed me over, and shoved me into the back of your closet with all your other used up toys. I wouldn't tell you this, I have to keep it a secret. You wouldn't keep talking to me if you knew how far in I was, and I wouldn't blame you.
But we don't really talk, we just text and selfie until the most ungodly hours of the night. Then in the halls we pass, and it's a buzz kill and a mood lift all at once, I'm blown away by you features, and I'm knocked on my ass by your inability to believe I'm actually a real thing.
But the main reason this whole thing has to stay a secret? My best friend was into you first.
YOU ARE READING
Secrets
Romance"He gives me butterflies every time he's around, even when I think about him. And it isn't the cute kind either. It's the kind that rip your stomach open, and it fucking hurts." Letters to Jasper, written by Jupiter, that he'll never get.
