I was fifteen-years-old when I realized I was in love for the first time. I know that, because I'm still in love with this person, despite the fact that he has hurt me more times than I can count on all my fingers and thumbs, and it has been nearly a decade. This is not your ordinary love story, where the two main characters fall in love and ride off together. No, this is a story of teenagers—one who feels more strongly than the other, and the other who just can't get his head out of his ass. And yet, even as I untangle and plug in my headphones and cue up If You Leave by Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark—the lyric, Seven years went under the bridge screaming vividly in my mind, all I can think about is the night that sealed my fate, compelling me to give my heart to this person, who will never truly understand the depths of my feelings for him.

I met him during play rehearsals during my freshman and his junior year, which lasted from September to November. The interactions between us were simple enough, and it was made clear that we hated one another. It was not for another year that I met him again, at a fundraiser for the drama department where we were surrounded by mutual friends. This interaction was positive ; he and I were able to, in simple terms, resolve our differences and became friends. We didn't see much of one another for the remainder of the year, but come January, we were placed in an improv/Shakespeare class together. I, meanwhile, had a crush on a close friend of his that didn't go anywhere. He and I continued our friendship, even playing a married couple in some skits.

After his graduation, I felt as if a giant hole had been replaced within me, when I came to the sudden realization that I wouldn't be seeing him every day. I felt gutted at the notion of being apart from him was too much for me. We kept in touch online; during the Christmas during my junior year, I got a cell phone. After texting, he realized my feelings, and invited me over for a party. That night, which culminated in my first kiss, I knew I was in too deep. I wrote in my diary that night, and remember writing, It feels like you're flying and don't know where to land.

I didn't see him again for another three years, where another kiss could have come into play. He was quite put out when I refused. When he demanded my reasoning, I replied, Because it would mean nothing to you, and everything to me. Although we still keep in touch, and he knows how I feel about him, I know he will never love me back, but something tells me that this chapter of my life is not over, yet I don't know how to end it.