confessions for a journal

You may forget about me in a month or two or three, until I’m a face you vaguely recognize enough to know to lift your hand and wave. We might not know each other again. I might forget the way you make me feel, or misunderstand the position my heart found itself in when I was sitting next to you.

But for now, you are something special to me. Not because you’ve done anything, not really. Not because of the smart things you think or the funny jokes you tell. I’m not really sure what it is that’s made me feel drawn to you like this, though I wish that I did have something to share.

*

I think in order to have a crush on someone, you have to have some sort of amnesia about the last crush you had. You can’t remember all of your embarrassing moments and thoughts, or the way you would panic when they got close, or how weird and excited you felt as soon as you made eye contact with them. You have to forget the sort of sickness you felt, the way you were sure that this was both the best and worst thing to ever happen to you. You have to only remember the thrill of it all, the way everything and nothing made sense, the way it felt okay to be irrational, because everyone knows that crushes make you crazy.

I’m hopeful in a way that I shouldn’t be. I’m resentful of the people who altered the phrase to be hopeful romantics. I’m sick of unrequited, but it's a cycle I just won’t break. I’ll be over it soon. You’ll have been my fleeting muse, a topic of old news, a person from the past only known and seen in passing.