She’s a girl I graduated with, senior year she was in my AP English class, and she was freaking peculiar. I mean I’m all about not having friends/hating everyone/reading books/being social freak but ONLY IN PRIVATE. This poor girl had no concept of social norms and how to act in public. But she was weird like this for YEARS so no one really ever gave much thought to it..she was who she was and it wasn’t hurting anyone so who cares. Well. One day she snapped. And then we started caring. After 4 years of silently hating us all and plotting out a communist takeover of Cumberland High School in Moleskine sketchbook, she went off the deep end. She wrote a letter. She wrote a letter to our class telling us that she personally hated each and every one of us. That we were obnoxious, disrespectful and so on. She then went on to assert herself as the superior being who put us in our place as simple peons who could never even dream of getting on her intellectual level. And then, as the teacher read the letter aloud, there Natalie sat, with oil pastels smudged all over her nose and the most satisfied smirk on her face—evidently her proudest moment. It was great. It was legendary. Nothing will ever come close to this. Eliminating world hunger? NO. A cure for AIDS? AS IF. Natalie Paris blasted Mrs. Dandurand’s A5 English class and it was beautiful. Majestic if you will.
I’m really going to miss Natalie Paris. In fact, she is the only thing I will feel nostalgic about when I think of high school. Oh Natalie
Whenever I see him, I put on a special outfit. I bake cupcakes and bring them to him on special occasions. I spend time with him on my days off and sometimes right through my lunch breaks. I plan my week around him—every hour, every minute. When he calls, I come running. And sometimes, I end up staying with him until all hours of the night….
Once upon a time there was a girl who really liked a boy. He was ordinary and mild, but incredibly perfect at the same time—it was a peculiar blend, yet satisfying just the same. The girl went on to like this ordinarily, mildly, perfect boy for nearly half a year until she realized that he didn’t like her quite as much as she had hoped—in fact, he liked her far less..if at all. So then, the half year filled with sparkling memories, fleeting visages of togetherness, and all the other little indescribable things that made her smile, were gone. He was gone. And she never understood why.
For a brief while, the girl gave much thought to her predicament. She wondered: Why? and How? And then after thinking herself into a tizzy of sorts, she just stopped. She stopped thinking about it, stopped being bothered by it, stopped avoiding it, stopped letting it get in the way. She stopped blaming herself.
Once upon a time I was a girl who almost loved you.