Dear Dreambook,

Ugh.

I think I’m doing it again.

You know that thing I do?

That stupid thing where I meet someone and suddenly they’re the most important person in the whole entire universe?

Yeah. That.

There’s this girl at the bus stop.

I don’t even know her name.

HOW EMBARRASSING IS THAT???

She smiled at me yesterday.

That’s it.

One stupid smile.

And now I’m writing about her like we’re supposed to get married or something.

God, I’m such a freak.

…

I wish I knew how to like people normally.

I really do.

I watch other girls at school. They have like a million friends. They laugh together, sit together, and then go home and somehow DON’T think about each other every five seconds.

HOW DO THEY DO THAT?

Seriously.

Because when someone is nice to me, even just a little, I get attached.

Like REALLY attached.

I start remembering everything about them.

Their birthday. Their favorite candy. The stupid joke they told three weeks ago.

And then I start waiting for them.

Waiting for them to call.

Waiting for them to sit next to me.

Waiting for them to pick ME.

And when they don’t?

I pretend I don’t care.

Which is a lie.

A BIG FAT LIE.

Sometimes I get jealous when my friends talk to other people.

I know. I KNOW.

They’re allowed to have other friends.

I’m not stupid.

But sometimes I feel like everyone has a favorite person, and I’m never anybody’s favorite.

I’m just… there.

Until I’m not.

…

I took two pictures of myself with my disposable camera.

The last two pictures on the roll.

Look at me.

LOL.

In one picture, I look like I haven’t slept in three years.

And in the other, I’m smiling like some kind of maniac.

I remember taking that one.

I kept trying to smile right.

Not too big. Not too weird. Not too much teeth.

Just normal.

Whatever normal is.

I wonder if people can tell by looking at me.

That I’m different.

That I get too excited when someone wants to be my friend.

That sometimes I talk too much, or not at all.

That I replay conversations in my head when I’m supposed to be sleeping.

Did I say something stupid?

Was I annoying?

Do they hate me now?

Sometimes I wish I could crawl inside somebody else’s brain for five minutes.

Just to see what it’s like to NOT care so much.

Because it’s exhausting.

And the worst part?

I don’t stop loving people just because they stop loving me.

I still remember them.

All of them.

Even the ones who were mean to me.

Even the ones who said we’d be best friends forever.

Especially those ones.

I wonder if they ever think about me.

Probably not.

…

The really sad thing is, I think I’d be a pretty good friend.

Maybe not an easy friend.

Okay, DEFINITELY not an easy friend.

But if you’re my friend, you’re my friend forever.

I’ll remember your birthday.

I’ll listen when you cry.

I’ll defend you when people are mean.

I’ll save you the last piece of candy.

Even if it’s my favorite.

And if you call me ten years from now?

I’ll probably answer like we just talked yesterday.

Because that’s how my brain works.

People don’t just disappear from my heart.

Even when I wish they would.

…

Anyway.

The girl at the bus stop.

She was there again today.

She has this way of looking at people like she’s actually SEEING them.

Not just looking.

Seeing.

I wanted to say hi.

I really, really did.

But what if I say something weird?

What if she thinks I’m creepy?

What if she becomes my friend and then realizes I’m too much?

What if I ruin another good thing before it even starts?

So I just stood there.

Pretending to look for the bus.

And then she looked at me.

And smiled.

Again.

I smiled back.

At least, I think I did.

It probably looked more like I was constipated.

HAHA.

Kill me.

…

Dear Dreambook,

I don’t know if I’m in love with that girl.

I don’t even know if I understand what love is.

Maybe I just want a friend.

Maybe I want someone who gets excited when they see me, too.

Someone who doesn’t get tired of me.

Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I have to be a smaller version of myself just to fit inside their life.

I think…

I think I just want someone to miss me when I’m gone.

Is that really so much to ask?

Anyway, the bus comes at 7:15 tomorrow.

I think I’ll get there early.

Just in case.

Love,
Luna

P.S. If she smiles at me again, I might actually die.

P.P.S. Please don’t let me get attached.

P.P.P.S. Too late.