It feels so awful when you like someone, and then they don't even talk to you. I mean, the person I like, he knows of my exsistence, but they barely even acknowledge it. I can't believe it. I feel so awfully about that. I know I will regret saying this, as it will sound cheesy later, but I just love looking at his eyes. They are so beautiful and blue, just like mine. When he laughs, or even smiles, I could just m_e_l_t.
But do you know what? None of it matters, because he doesn't even think of me...ever. I don't think so. And I just don't know what to do. I had chances, sure I did. Chances to get what I wanted. But I didn't take them. I was too scared. It makes me so mad to know that I didn't do something because I was too much of a coward. Sometimes I would just like someone to give me a good smack across the face and knock some sense into me.
I need someone to confide in. Someone to tell my secrets. Ever since Suzanne went her separate way, I feel as if I don't have anyone that I can tell everything to. I could trust her, to tell her, anything. And she wouldn't tell anyone. I know she didn't. Every time I had a problem with my father, she was there to listen to me and help me out. But who do I have now? Who do I have? I can't trust my other friends with my secrets. They're all too worried about themselves to worry about me anyway. Even though I would always help them out. And then others, if they would listen...they wouldn't know how to handle it. Or they would think that I was stupid or messed up, or something like that. Such superficial people. Thank God the weekend is coming up soon. I need some time to think about things. Do I want to keep crushing after Chris? This boy, who doesn't even care about me? Is it really worth it? Is there someone out there who admires me that I don't know about? Sometimes I think there is, but why am I fooling myself?
I think I have asked the most questions I have ever asked for a long time in this entry. But I'm confused. Maybe if I get some sleep, it will help me.
Lost, so lost. . .