Dear Journal,

I have a confession to make.

I know what you're thinking. Is this one of your recycled stories that you've heard a million times before with a recycled protagonist whose personality is the equivalent to cardboard? Perhaps, but that's up for you to decide.

Who knew that gathering thoughts into one cohesive basin would be so difficult? I feel like a train that's proceeding its way to the fork in the tracks—ready for a chaotic anti-climax.

Do you know what love is, mysterious person who just so happens to be reading this personal private journal entry? I don't know if you do. If you're in my age range, a junior in high school, then I doubt it. People mistake love for lust on practically a daily basis, and then end up in shit relationships because of it. We could all blame the males for our lewd desires that any heterosexual can cater towards other women, but I say the woman is at fault too. If they just knew the difference between the saint and the sinner, things might go a little smoother. The female craving for a "bad boy" really punctures my skin. So instead of finding a guy who will treat you right and give you equal amounts of respect, you choose—for lack of better words—a dick. Makes sense.

But hey, we're teenagers. Our brain capacity can only be so immense. Our understanding of human psychology is very limited, whether we want to admit it or not. What I'm trying to get at—is that love is a painful cycle. It's a nonstop Ferris wheel, a line without an endpoint, an eternal tunnel that only the lucky ones can die happily in. If you take all of the inhabitants of the world, only a handful have probably found a lover that's parallel to them. Have I? To keep a long story short—no.

I've lived my life under the bridge ever since I hit middle school, also known as the most awkward years of my life. They say high school is the point where you start to find out who it is you are and what you want to be, but I went through all of that when I was just thirteen.

So, what's this confession I have? I'll put it bluntly. I'm in love with someone.

Love is strong a word, especially for me. I mean, shit, I know about as much of the world as Bart Simpson. That little rascal has been ten years old ever since The Simpsons cartoon came out in the late 1980s. Do you see what I'm getting at here? I'm saying that just like Bart Simpson, I've yet to grow up. I like to think of myself as relatively mature in my own right, especially when compared to my barbaric classmates. Though, in the midst of my faint supremacy, they have something that I don't.

Balls.

Now before you tie that into me being a transgender gone wrong, I mean that they have more courage to go after what they want more so than I ever have. I've always been the little pussycat that would get eaten alive in the doghouse. That doesn't mean I'll back down in a fight, but I'm not looking for one either.

When I was in the sixth grade, it was like I was silently walking in a race of hungry lions. They charged head first into any situation they came across, while my lack of mental facility constrained me from keeping up. All of the boys were already getting girlfriends, trading porn magazines at the back of the school, hell, a few had even lost their virginity already. I was too innocent.

I also have this theory that me without balls also makes me the perfect lover. I've yet to have the opportunity to be captivated by the aura of romance, so I'm more prone to appreciation. I've never been able to have that special girl to love, not once. My friends are so used to it that they take their companions for granted. I shun whenever I see it. I hate seeing my peers with a perfectly fine woman who would do anything for them neglect them so carelessly.

I figure that they ought to be lucky to have someone at all. If I were to have a woman like that, I would do everything to make sure that every moment she spends with me is like a rollercoaster, that every time I compliment her I truly mean what I say, that every kiss we share is magical.

But of course, me without balls also equals me without confidence in myself. I like to think of myself as a good catch, I just don't know how to throw myself properly to make others actually see this. I patiently wait for a girl to come waltzing into my life ready bring me out of this depressing reality I've been cornered in. Basically, a girl that doesn't exist.

I've lived long enough to learn that those flawless female leads in the movies are all imaginary. I'm sure there are a very small percentage of lucky fellows that have gotten a chance to meet their perfect counterpart. Good for them, fucking bastards. For whatever reason, I'm not one of them. However, there is one girl that is just so god damned perfect that I myself think that perhaps she is a character out of a movie.

The point is in all of this confusion is that I'm in love. This is that special type of love. The one that is just so close yet so agonizingly difficult to reach, and you feel as if you're not worthy of your potential significant other. It's almost like you're a foil that doesn't meet their standards. This domestic affection I have for her is trapped inside of a bottle.

I'm in love with my best friend, Kairi Hart. God help me.

Kairi's been my best friend for as long as I can remember. The childhood friend scenario is getting old, I know, but it's such a heartbreaker. Can you really resist? I remember how we met all the way back in elementary school. She was the weird kid. Nobody would play with her. She had weird fetishes for sticking dolls in the soil head first and digging unsharpened pencils up her nose. The kids all thought she was insane and everybody would avoid her.

I thought she was weird too, but I also found her fascinating. What would influence a kid—a girl, no less—to jump into a pile of fresh mud getting her pretty little sundress all dirtied up? I wanted to know.

I remember one day I was paired up with her for an activity, something I was not looking forward to. Turns out, she was actually really nice the more I got to know her. Annoying—but still nice.

The next day, I decided to play with her at recess. The other kids thought I had gone coo coo for Cocoa Puffs and started avoiding me too. She seemed happy enough to have a playmate, but it wasn't like she appreciated my kindness or anything. In fact, I was more like another one of her toys if nothing else. She always used me as a guinea pig for one of her stupid "experiments" and whenever she had another one of her wicked impulsive schemes come to mind, I got dragged along for the ride, whether I liked it or not.

This routine went on until middle school, where she finally began to start showing more signs of her femininity. Sure, she had a stupid idea every once in a while that I'd participate in, but it wasn't on the regular basis anymore like it used to be. This was also the period when I realized that throughout the years of me bitching about how irritating my friend was, I was actually having fun. I loved getting into all sorts of misadventures with her. I loved the days when we would raise hell at our school. Those were fun times. I had hoped that things would never change.

But things did change. Middle school was also around the time when the other guys were starting to notice Kairi. And they should have; she was getting a lot cuter. She still wasn't the "it" girl. It wasn't like every guy in our class was out to get with her. They thought she was cute, but that was about as far as it went. Personality-wise, she was still labeled as the crazy bitch with all of the awesome ideas. She was just another bro.

But to me, she was my best friend. Throughout the denial, I finally admitted to myself that I liked Kairi. And I mean really liked her. The revelation hit me like a bullet. The days of her being on my mind nonstop haunt me to this moment in time. Her bright smile lit up my entire day. I was oddly getting a kick out of her whooping my ass whenever I screwed up one of her little plans. Don't judge me.

And then, high school happened. This was like the turning point in the movie that you totally saw coming right when the characters were introduced. In middle school, Kairi was cute. In high school, Kairi was gorgeous.

Her cherry hair that was once cut short now went slightly past her shoulders. It struck a fire in every single guy's sweltering heart on the campus. Her enviable, desirable curves had settled, her chest perky, her eyes mesmerizing any poor fool into a trap of love bubbles. While she wasn't as much of a tomboy as she was in previous years, she still fit the title. But she was a hot tomboy. The kind of girl that didn't trip over getting their hands a little dirty. The kind of girl who was determined to get you to up your game and give your best effort, from school projects to sports. The kind of girl who seemed so strong, you couldn't help but flop in her presence.

We all have our own definitions for perfect. She's my definition. Kairi is unblemished; she's the most captivating person I've ever met. The only one who can keep me on my toes and yet make me not want to get off them. No other girl has plucked at my heartstrings so viciously. I bet she has no idea how much joy and pain she brings me sometimes.

No, that's not right. I shouldn't blame Kairi for my misery. I should blame myself for still having not made a move after four long years of liking her. My other best friend, Riku, has been pushing me to ask her out. I always give him that exhausted excuse of not wanting to ruin our friendship over a serious relationship and/or not wanting to disband our little trio. And while both excuses are valid, I would still at least like to have a taste of what it would be like to have all of my embarrassing fantasies become concrete within reality.

Even though I would never do anything to hurt Kairi, I can't say that I haven't daydreamed about fucking her. I mean, I'm a teenager in high school. Need I explain more? Hormones are a bitch.

I don't want to get graphic but I just can't stop thinking about having her body pressed against mine, husky breaths, and intense motions. Feeling her bare skin rub on mine as we admire each other, eyes filled with a mixture of lust and love. Those perky breasts that are just the right size… I just love picturing myself groping them. Her sweet kisses would only arouse me further. I can't stop thinking about her sacred area as I'd inject my shaft inside of her, feeling her stiffen at my overbearing thrusting. I want to be rewarded by her moans. I want her to scream for me to continue to give her this pleasure that not any other man on this earth could ever do. See? Not graphic at all.

The crazy part is that I don't even want to have sex with her just for my own personal triumph and pleasure. I want Kairi to get as much, or even more enjoyment out of our intimacy than even myself. I don't care if her wetness feels like my jock is getting fitted into a tight bowling ball, if she's not enjoying it, then I can't go any further. She's that important to me.

This also comes with the topic of her happiness. If being with me is not what makes her happy, then I can't go through with it. When we get intimate and she doesn't seem to be receiving pleasure, then I want her to find another partner that can fulfill her desires. Her happiness is more important to me than my own. I guess that makes me a sap or whatever.

Why won't she leave my mind? It's getting harder each day, and I'm not just talking about my internal conflict. Seriously, porn doesn't even get me off anymore. It has to be her. Just thinking about all of things I'd do to her gets me stiff. Thinking about simple things like walking on parks together and even having Disney movie marathons with her on my lap gets me hard—I can't even tell if it's in a sexual way anymore.

I'm not creepy enough to whack off to a picture of her, though. I have my limits, even though I may seem like a pervert who only wants to fuck my best friend, but that isn't the case. I honestly wish it was, this wouldn't hurt so badly. I wouldn't have to deal with my insides twisting into knots that make me feel the need to puke just to get my mind off of her. I have to do something about this before I go mentally unstable.

Luckily for me, she's only had a few boyfriends so far, which were all just impulsive flings that went nowhere. I don't think I could even bear to see her with someone else. She's been asked out plenty of times but she's rejected nearly every single one of them. A tiny little spark of optimism ignites within me in hopes that maybe she's waiting for Mr. Right to come along and sweep her off her feet. If I'm fortunate, I might be that lucky someone.

These thoughts are only torturing me further. I can't deal with not knowing, but I need to find out if the feelings I have for her have even the slightest chance at being reciprocated! Or else they'll tear me to shreds, shitting bombs of torment at me when I let my guard down. It's time for me to man up. There's only one way I can assure myself that I can be free from this corruption raining on me like a dark grey cloud. It's a conclusion I spent the last few years hoping I'd be on the receiving end of it, but it looks as if that's not the case. So there's only one thing I can possibly do…

I'm going to confess my feelings to my best friend.

Sora Hikari

Okay, so I really did not want to start up another story but the ideas won't stop bugging me, so I have to do something about it!

This story all depends on the reaction it gets. Tell me if you think I should continue it or if you're interested to know what happens next. I understand if you don't because this chapter doesn't really set the mood for the story just yet.

Doesn't it just suck to see someone you like seem so unattainable? That's what this story is gonna be about. But yeah, tell me what you think in a review!