Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry it seemed as if I've abandoned you this past couple of weeks. It's not you, it's me (and there goes the break-up line of the century). I've been preoccupied lately. With what (ok, with whom, more like) you already know. I can't help it diary, he's like an itch I can't scratch. Or an itch that I do want to scratch but can't because somebody else is supposed to scratch it already. Wait, what? That doesn't make sense. Oh, you know I suck at metaphors. Stop staring at me with that blank page and evenly spaced lines!

Just this day, I saw him again. Which is pretty much a done deal since he sits right in front of me in Biology class. What's with Biology classes anyways? They're always the target of young adult novel writers for a romantic slash mysterious high school classroom setting. Since when did preserved frogs floating in chloroform become the epitome of eternal passion?

Although, I wouldn't classify this as a kind of immortal fixation or whatever. That's just creepy. This is just a temporary thing. It got to be. I can't spend eternity gawking over an ex-best friend salivate over his girlfriend. Now that's just pathetic. This is a momentary thing, a period of temporary insanity, a ripple in the time continuum that is my boring life. Hey, it's not my fault that he spent 10 years of both our existence trying to make me laugh and being there for every crayon broken, ice cream melted and knees skinned and then literally forgetting every one of those moments just because Miss Pretty, Perfect and Popular decided to give him the time of day.

She's not that pretty, really. Just... bouncy. She likes to bounce. Parts of her body bounce as if on cue, her hair when she's walking under sunlight, her boobs just when guys are near in gym class.. Ugh. And yes, I loathe her bounciness.

But still, I can't understand how something as silly as that could ruin a decade's worth of friendship. When she's with him, it's like somebody has stolen my ancient cellphone. It may be worn because of countless use but it's mine. I can text with it without looking at the keypad, call with it and say stupid private things and fill it with useless stuff, but it's my phone, I know it, and I'd like to think that it knows me.

Yesterday at the hallway, we accidentally passed by each other, just the two of us. It was a miracle he managed to shrug off the evil clingy tentacles of his girlfriend for at least a minute. After that awkward hi-hello-we-used-to-be-close-friends-remember phase, he actually had the guts to tell me he missed me. Well, he wasn't really that frank with it but he did say that he missed competing with me on who gets to eat the most Haggen Dazs which is basically our code for our wild platonic bonding sessions. Hmm, if only things are black and white, everything would be much simpler.

I never knew I've fallen in love with my best friend until it's too late. Yes, I know, diary. I hate cliches with a passion yet I'm living one. This is pathetic. I'm pathetic.

So starting this day, I resolve to stop the pity fest and find myself a distraction. A male distraction. (Nope, not a hobby or an innocent past time or some loser thing like that.) I am a goddess, hear me roar! No more miss nice girl moping in the corner, looking wistfully into thin air like some puppy waiting for a treat. Time to put those Push Up Bras to work!

I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. I'm not doing this for him. I'm done doing things for him and waiting in vain for something that obviously did not even cross his mind even once while it raced through mine almost continuously since puberty. Damn these hormones. I'm through chasing, I'm through leaving subtle hints, I'm through hoping.

I'm done.

So, there you go diary, there's my Mi Ultimo Adios to everything I believed in since I grew tired of Cinderella and her magic glass slippers (WTH is her fairygodmother thinking anyways, giving her footwear that could shatter upon impact?) and Snow White with her group of midgets. Like Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard, I sing this last song.

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime
Jamais je ne t'oublierai
I have loved you for so long
And I will never forget you.

And that's how it will all end. With a couple of translated verses and a big tub of ice cream. Just leave me to my pain!

Sincerely Yours,
Waiting In The Wings No More

Friday, February 8

10:32 PM

Photo: Diary Writer is by Kocisko