I wish there was cure for a crush. It would solve all my emotions so I could return to being an emotionless recluse pre-occupied with fandoms, tumblr, and homework. He used to be invisible to me. Yeah, I heard his English accent and all the girls get excited over him; but I assumed that his poor choice of clothing (ew all he wears is brand name clothes from Aeropostale and American Eagle needs variety) and all of the previously stated made him dumb and shallow and not worth my time. Hoo boy was I wrong. He’s witty and smart and we can hold a nice long debate on political philosophy and walk off smiling. He knows Heidegger and Nietzsche, Democritus and Aristotle; and I loveI can discuss these and more with him. I realized more about him when we were assigned to monitor a hallway together at our school’s Dutch Debate Tournament. I asked his name after sitting in uncomfortable silence for nearly two hours, my electronics dead and no paper or pencils to draw with. I figured, why not, we were going to be stuck here for over twelve hours we might as well get to know each other. I regret that. I fell head over heels for him that fateful weekend. Now, I watch him present in class, dreaming off in dreamland. I draw portraits of him, and if I’m not, it somehow, subconsciously, ends up looking like him. Suddenly, the Union Jack is no longer the symbol of garish and annoying attention-seeking Anglophiles and hipsters who like to make my life miserable, instead, it’s a symbol of him and all he is. Suddenly, I feel a little proud of my cursive and crossing my sevens. He and I are the only ones in our classes who do. Suddenly, I find myself waiting by the bus exit, sitting near where he typically comes, hoping today will be one of those lucky days he walks up to me, talks to me, maybe hug me (the last one has only happened once).
Just like that,
My heart aches for him more than it ever has for any otp, fandom, show, book, character, or movie combined. I’m having what tumblr dubs to be ‘FEELS’ for a guy in real life. How can this be?
It hurts only more as I realize I’m just a friend.
And among those friends,
I’m not as important as say,
He tells me I’m smart, I’m talented,
But goddammit he’s to polite to admit- he thinks I’m a freak.
He’s everything I’m not-
I’m not the light-headed and pretty girls I’m 99.9999999999% sure he’s much more into,
Even though I try to appeal with my intelligence, my talent, I feel I come off as a show off, a snob, a smart aleck.
But the fact that I haven’t given up hope in this one hormonal, insane, effeminate part of me; that 0.0000000001% of a doubt that maybe I’m the one makes it hurt more.
And it hurts so much because of it.
I’m in love with the British kid in my debate class.