May 09, 2002 // 9:39 p.m. // A caveat to crushes

Note: No jumping to conclusions. This entry is about 10 or so different people. But it is for every crush who walked past me to pursue "the other guy" who eventually left them hurt and in pain.

And you can't get anymore like how I feel about crushes than Pretty In Pink.

"Oh, that's very nice. Here's the point. I'm not particularly concerned whether or not you like me. I live to like you. And I can't like you anymore. So when you get your heart splattered all over hell and you're feeling low and dirty, don't look for me to help pump you back up."

"I love this woman. I love this woman and I have to tell her. If she laughs, she laughs, but I can't wait anymore. If she doesn't love me, she doesn't love me. But if I don't find out..."

All I know is I was just seventeen when I fell in love for the first and thus far only time.

All I can think of are odd anniversaries from March through June especially of when things happened. I'm coming up on three years. I took two steps forward, but now feel I've slipped at least three back.

I'm in between two milestone dates. April 30th and May 14th. The day she watched me cry over her in front of her and the day we danced with our ash gray Army shirts to U2 and Will Smith. I'm wearing the shirt right now, and it looks as new now as it does then.

I'm also looking at photos from the river trip two years ago. I have a shot of Angie wearing my jacket and T.E.N.T.'s Army shirt. So fitting that she'd be wearing the shirt of the girl who had just hurt me, when she'd go on to do it so well herself a year later.

And I connect things in weird ways like that. I see her wearing her shirt (because it was borrowed by Hailey, T.E.N.T.'s step-sister) and I see the picture a little more clearly.

These two girls, both literally overnight, realized to move on without telling me.

I haven't seen T.E.N.T. in just over two years. It'll be two years for Angie this summer. All I want is an explanation, but all I'll get is the runaround and frustration from one and no answer whatsoever from the other.

Please don't tell me that I "have to move on." I know that. I did for a while. But I'm back in that slump. The one where I just want to read through old journals to recall the details that I've since pushed out of my mind.

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