[Disclaimer: I don't own Lizzie McGuire, but I own Hilary Duff's SOUL! Mwahaha, yes, I am the Devil!

Just kidding. If Satan could write this well, you'd be saying, Matthew, Mark, Luke and Lucifer.]

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It was supposed to be perfect.

How was I supposed to know I didn't love him? These things aren't set in stone and put in perfect view. Choosing who you love is like being blindfolded, spun around a few times and then asked to pin the tail on the donkey. Sometimes you're lucky. Some girls just , or so they say. These girls just because they feel a burning passion or it brings out raw emotion they never knew they posessed. But who are they to tell me if it's love or not? Does anyone really have the jurisdiction and the authority to define the thing we call love?

What sort of imbecile sat down one day and decided we needed love? Who says we need marriage? God said, Be fruitful and multiply. In other words, Have sex and make sure your species doesn't die out! I mean, really. Sure, God loves everyone, and sure, maybe he'd get a little peeved if everyone just went around banging each other relentlessly, since that's obviously not the way he wanted things to work (plus, people would be spreading STDs, which would in turn kill more people, and hence, defeats the purpose of sex, which is to create new life). But why do you think God made sex feel so good? So people would want to do it! Maybe love can fuel' passion and create the desire to have sex, but let's face it. Love is a novelty, a souveneir you get in your doggy bag to remind you of the good times you had with someone. It's nothing that lasts.

Call me bitter, but I know the absolute mental strife one goes through when dealing with breakups. Whether the dumper or the dumpee, either way, I fill my mind to the brink with regrets and worries and sorrow and stresses, until it all heats up to its boiling point, reaching its climax where my brain just completely shuts down. Love is not a many splendor'd thing. (Love is a painful thing.) Love cannot lift us where we belong. (Love would rather plummet us into depression.). All you need is not love. (All you need is happiness.)

I've known this boy for years. And that's just what he still is: a boy. Unsure of his feelings, he figured he was in love and proposed to me many months ago. And I admit it, I was still so naive and oblivious, truly believing I too was in love. After all, this boy was precious to me, and I admire him to the point of worship. He has cared for me and I have cared for him. We enjoy each other's company. He makes me laugh. I want to be with for the rest of my life.

Then why is it horrible that in a few hours, I'm going to be Mrs. Elizabeth Gordon?

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[A/N: Betcha didn't see that one coming! Ba-boom, I threw a curveball, bebeh.

This fic is dedicated in part to my sex partner, Lane. I mean my friend Lane. I mean my lover Lane. Lover Lane, haha! Erm, yeah, so Lane aka funky pink high top, this Bud's for you.

I'd like to say there's an interesting story behind this...story, like I just broke up with my boyfriend and I'm now an angry, bitter, love-hating biotch, but sadly, this is not the case. (i don't even have a boyfriend.) This story, actually, though, is partly inspired by the movie Down With Love. Which is a good movie, by the way. Heh, yeah, I've never even had a boyfriend and I'm already totally bitter in regards to love. Blame it on my constant unrequited love. *gasp* Did I say love? Oh no, Lizzie would be disappointed! If you're wondering, I do believe in love. I just kind of hate the talk about it like it's the beautiful, magical thing.

Well, enough bitter me. This story's only gonna have about 5-10 chapters or so. So enjoy it while it lasts. :)

Lemme know what you think: please review. THANKS!]