Infatuation Hurts, Part II:
I Hate The Truth.
Disclaimer can be found in Infatuation Hurts, Part I
Told from the Point-of-View of a boy in 7th Grade
Why does she choose to look the other way?
I should just give up.
Just move on.
I try.
But I just can't.
Maybe my friends were right when they told me that
she didn't have the slightest interest in me.
Friends.
They always tell me the pure and simple truth.
More like the painful and depressing truth.
I hate the truth.
I really do.
That's what you get.
All the time.
Even if its not what you want.
I hate the truth.
But what if my friends are wrong?
What if she is as infatuated with me as I am her?
Impossible.
That's the plain and simple truth.
I hate the truth.
I really do.
And if she does like me, she has
a good way of hiding it.
A very good way.
Maybe even too good.
I try to tell her every day.
I've tried every day so far this year.
I've tried since January of last year.
But it hasn't worked.
Not at all.
I try to catch her gaze.
But every time.
She is looking away.
And when I turn away.
I feel a pair of eyes penatrating my head.
Her eyes.
I know that they're hers.
Because she's the only one who could
ever penatrate that far without my permission.
It seems that she is reading my mind.
Finding all of my deepest, darkest secrets.
That I've never told anybody.
Not one soul.
Ever.
And I probably never will.
Unless its her.
And that's the pure and simple truth.
But the truth is rarely pure.
And never simple.
And I hate the truth.
I really do.
I really, truly, sincerely do.
I hate the truth.
In all it's entirety.
I hate the truth.
And that's the truth.
I still hate the truth.
No matter what.
And I probably always will.
Unless the truth is all that I want it to be.
Unless I have...
Her.
I'll always hate the truth.
And that's final.