Picking Up the Pieces.

So Over It.

I fell in love for the first time in the seventh grade. Yeah, I was 13. I'm not going to give you that whole speech about how "Oh, it's real, true love, I'm gonna marry him, I just fall in and out of love really easy."

I'm not stupid.

Love grows with you, changes and shapes itself to the amount of it you can contain, but it's always there.

I was 13, and I had a broken heart.

His name was Lucas. He had brown hair, the exact same shade of mine, and brilliant blue eyes framed with eyelashes any girl would have died for. I'd only met him at the beginning of the year, but I'd liked him ever since.

He was nice, funny, cute -

And he was an asshole.

I dated him for a week, but he got bored. He moved on.

That's when I realized, I actually loved him. And it hurt, knowing he had so much power over me. But I was in real, actual love.

He convinced all of my friends to call me names, block me on facebook, tell me I was ugly, I didn't deserve to live...etc. Just for a laugh. The worst part (other than losing my dignity and self respect) was that I was still as in love with him ever.

I could go into detail, but that's for another day.

All I can say is that, by grade 8, my 11:11 wish was always the same thing; "I wish I could get over him."

He dated one of my best friends in the eighth grade. Every day, I wished harder and harder that I could get over him. Move on with my life, and have a more positive romantic experience. By then, I was completely convinced nobody would ever love me for who I was.

I needed to start the healing process. But my best friend was the most unsympathetic person in the world.

My therapy came in the form of a guy - someone who I never could've wished for in my wildest dreams.

A/N

Yes this is a Greyson Chance story.  Hold your pants on :) (my friend says that)