A/N: Well...I wrote this awhile back, but I just never posted it...and as I was cleaning out a few of my old notebooks I found it again...lol...so I don't really remember where it came from...so...yeah...lol :)
I cry at night because I know I can't have you. One glance at you and my heart aches, my self-esteem plunges, my smile turns to a frown. You are ten leagues above me, and I know that's a fact. A guy like you would never glance my way…and if you did? The media would gossip, would talk, would question you on why you were dating such an ugly girl…and it would be over before it'd even begun.
I hate myself, because I make matters worse. I can't help it, I suppose. I torture myself. I've covered every inch of my room in posters of you, and you are the last thing I see each night before I shut my eyes.
I hate the girls that date you. They're beautiful, and they have you. What more could any girl ask for?
I hate myself for being ugly. I can't stand it. I want beautiful eyes and whiter than snow, straight teeth and a perfect, adorable face and the best hair.
If I'd never seen your face I'd be okay. I'd be happy. Sometimes. But now…now I'm not sure if I'll ever be happy. I can't enter my room without feeling icky and gross. I smile at you, but it's a sad smile and I moan because you are just so hot. It's not fair—why are some people so hot, so sexy, and others…so…unfortunate looking??
If only I were pretty, maybe I wouldn't feel so depressed by looking at you…if only I hadn't allowed myself to love you.
It's painful, possibly the most agonizing thing I've ever had to do, but I know I have to do it. With a sigh, I begin to un-tape each and every poster, slowly taking each one down from my walls and crumpling them up to toss them out.
I'm crying lightly, and I'm hiccupping, and my thoughts are soaring, but that's okay. I know it's best.