Four Years
Freshman Year
The summer run in, or lack there of, had started to loose its effect. I no longer dreamed about you. Maybe you'd finally decided to leave me alone. Possibly, now I could just be happy alone.
The first semester I only had one class with you, and we sat on opposite sides of the room, much to my relief. I busied myself with school work, and club activities to keep my mind preoccupied. I was over you. Finally over you. Or I liked to think I was. In the hallways, I maybe tried to bump into you, catch your eye if anything.
I later found out your preppy girlfriend and you had split, which, this time, had no effect on me, because I was over you. Completely over you...
...
Though I wouldn't have minded having you.
The second semester came fast, bringing my two sophomore classes with them. This meant more work, and less free time to think about you. This obsession was becoming an addiction that I couldn't quit.
You now had my Spanish class and you sat two seats in front of me. You and your friend would work with my friend and me to finish our work, and I would look at you so often, I'm sure you noticed. It was maddening.
Over the school year, I'd had a couple of boyfriends, all older than me and nothing like you. I felt horrible for dating them. I didn't like them as much as you, and it was cruel to make them think I did.
It was also maddening that every time I had a boyfriend, you seemed more interested in me. Was it the "men want what other men want" rule put into play?
The year was coming to a close, and my friend and I were talking about boys, because that's what we do, and he told me that you thought I was pretty. It frustrated me to no end. What was I to you? Nothing? Something to look at? I was at my breaking point.
I was done with you.
The first semester I only had one class with you, and we sat on opposite sides of the room, much to my relief. I busied myself with school work, and club activities to keep my mind preoccupied. I was over you. Finally over you. Or I liked to think I was. In the hallways, I maybe tried to bump into you, catch your eye if anything.
I later found out your preppy girlfriend and you had split, which, this time, had no effect on me, because I was over you. Completely over you...
...
Though I wouldn't have minded having you.
The second semester came fast, bringing my two sophomore classes with them. This meant more work, and less free time to think about you. This obsession was becoming an addiction that I couldn't quit.
You now had my Spanish class and you sat two seats in front of me. You and your friend would work with my friend and me to finish our work, and I would look at you so often, I'm sure you noticed. It was maddening.
Over the school year, I'd had a couple of boyfriends, all older than me and nothing like you. I felt horrible for dating them. I didn't like them as much as you, and it was cruel to make them think I did.
It was also maddening that every time I had a boyfriend, you seemed more interested in me. Was it the "men want what other men want" rule put into play?
The year was coming to a close, and my friend and I were talking about boys, because that's what we do, and he told me that you thought I was pretty. It frustrated me to no end. What was I to you? Nothing? Something to look at? I was at my breaking point.
I was done with you.