Disclaimer: I, obviously, don't own this.

Author's Note: Oh my god, I actually wrote something. It's a sign of the apocalypse, the armaggedon is coming! Anyways, I wrote this because I am bored. Now, I must warn you, I haven't seen every episode so I might get things wrong. Reading and Reviewing would be nice, but not necessary.

All flames will be hereby known as constructive criticism.


Words Left Unsaid

"The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone." -Harriet Beecher Stowe


It never used to be like this. We never used to act like we didn't know each other. Things changed.

On that first day of middle school, a unseen force came and wrecked the world I once knew. She became...different. I don't really know how to describe it other than disconcerting. I guess I changed too because, all of sudden, to talk to her seemed as tough as swimming across the Pacific ocean. When she talked to me? I clammed up and acted indifferently. Maybe it scared her off; maybe she thought that I didn't care for her anymore.

If it's the second one, she was wrong. Dead wrong.

I cared for her, wanted to be with her for those two grueling years of middle school. I wanted to walk up to her and say the words I longed to tell, but every time I got near her, I'd lose the courage that brought me there. I would say, "I'll try again tomorrow, then," but the tomorrow I wanted never came. Sure, one time she caught me and asked what I wanted, but I'd say something stupid like, "Can I borrow your eraser?"Which made me feel like the biggest loser in the world.

Now, I'm standing outside her house. It's the summer before we start High School and I want to start this year by telling her how I feel. The courage hasn't left me yet and I'm hoping it won't. Walking up to her door doesn't seem as tough as the questions my mind is asking me, "What if she says no? What if she laughs in your face? What if she isn't home?"

Those questions take my courage and tears it apart. My insides seemed squeezed and tangled as soon as I reach the door. My fist tries to knock on the door but stops half-way through; I don't want to do it. No, I don't want to keep waiting for that tomorrow and I don't want to knock on this door. I drop my fist by my side and walk away.

At this point, my mind, the very thing that held me back, decides to ask, "Will you ever regret this?"