Monday
Dear diary,
I did it again, caught myself looking at him. The teacher's been asking about the wet patches on my work, and I can't tell him I've been drooling over a boy, can I? Cody's just so great – I can't live without him, but I don't think he even knows I exist! I don't know what I should do. Oh, the heart has its reasons of which reason knows not..
Jake.
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Tuesday
Dear diary,
Oh god, I just can't stop thinking about him. Today, in woodshop, he got wood shavings in his hair, and it just made him look so, so… Oh god he's so beautiful. At least I don't have pictures of him all over my locker, eh? I mean, I'm not that desperate, am I? Am I?
Jake
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Wednesday
Dear diary,
I know he saw me this time. I stole a quick glance at him before lunch, and I'm sure that he looked over at me just before I turned away. I didn't dare look back at him again. Oh god, why the hell does he have to be so perfect and I so weak? Answer me that.
Jake
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Thursday
Dear diary,
Jesus Christ I'm sad. I'm disgraceful. I can't believe I'm actually thinking of ways to get him to like me. I mean, he's straight, and I'm such a coward I wouldn't do them anyway. Answer me: why am I so weak? Why am I such a coward? Why? Why, why, why?
Jake
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Friday
Dear diary,
Ok, I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna show him my poem I wrote. It doesn't mean I'm a puff or anything, does it? I'm not a sissy or anything like that. It's nothing to be ashamed of to be able to write poetry. Then again, it is something to be ashamed of, since it's for a guy. Shit. What should I do, what should I do? My poem would surely win over his heart…except he's not gay. Shit.
If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.
If I could speak words of water
You would drown when I said
"I love you."
Do you think it's ok? Oh god, I hope he likes it. Jesus, I must be mental. Shit.
Jake
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Saturday
Dear diary,
This will be my last entry. I HATE that bloody kid. I hate him; I hate him! He's a bastard and I hate him. Oh god, I'm such a fool. Such a fool for thinking he could…we could…he's a FUCKING TWAT, and I HATE him. I hate his hair, I hate his smile, and I hate him: I hate every fucking thing about him!
Except I don't. I hate myself now, but I don't hate him. I love him. I love his smile, I love his hair – I even love his goofy sweater vests. But he doesn't love me, what I just saw proves it. I don't hate him, I hate that I don't hate him. I hate this love, this sick, depraved lust I have for him, because it's consuming me. It's consuming me and there's only one way out. One Way Out.
Jake.
(A/N: This is based on something that actually happened, though the real 'Jake' didn't find a way out – he just went insane, and no, he isn't me)