I am such an amateur. I keep falling in love; it’s like I never learn. My heart has been shattered more times than I can count, and I’m running low on emotional band-aids.
I desperately need help.
Sure, we’ve all experienced heartbreak and love gone terribly wrong, but nobody can possibly understand the horrors of love more than I do. You may think you’ve had it bad, but until you witness the boy of your dreams climb to the ends of the earth to be with his girlfriend (a.k.a. NOT ME), you won’t understand the kind of emotional turmoil I’ve been through.
All the boys I fall in love with end up with someone else—and that’s when I’m lucky, because sometimes the boys just die. As I recall, one boy passed away due to cancer; another one was killed when he tried to save his best friend. Another one committed suicide after a tragic turn of events. Let it be noted that I went through two tubs of ice cream for each one of them.
But don’t judge a book by its cover, and don’t jump to conclusions. Before you call me another hopeless, hormonal teenage girl, please take a moment to sympathize with me. Being in love isn’t easy, and it takes a lot more strength than you’d think. In fact, it takes courage. It takes loyalty. When you give your heart to somebody that dies, a piece of your heart perishes with them.
To make things worse, when I fall, I fall hard. From the day I meet these boys, I’m right by their side. We’re the very best of friends, and I am the best partner in crime you could possibly have. I battle metaphorical dragons with them while tolerating their painfully bad jokes. I hear heartbreaking stories about their messed up lives (girls dig the entire ‘sensitive-guy’ thing) while pondering about how messed up my own life is.
I think about them day and night, and if it came to it, I’d crawl to the ends of the earth for these guys. But whenever I do, they only crawl away from me; usually they leave and never return.
It’s time I realized the painful truth: I’m eternally friendzoned.
I have only one question: why is life so unfair? Why is it so difficult to be truly happy? It’s hopeless. Unless I can find a magical portal that’ll take me into an alternate dimension called ‘the pages of a book,’ I’ll never be happy.
Because being in love with a fictional character is utterly impossible.
Despite what my brain is telling me to do, I know my heart will once again fall in love the moment I pick up another novel. Alas, it is the dreaded curse of the teenage fangirl—and I hate it while loving it at the same time.
