Almost 4 months ago, I swallowed my dignity as a girl and pulled my guts to tell D
“I like you more than I should.”
Okay, now, we’re still good friends but I’m not getting any love more than that. And yes, I decided on me being undecided on us. Or maybe just me being undecided on us, maybe he already moved on? I don’t know.
I don’t know how people do this shit – this whole confessing business. To you people who are confident and expressive, I envy you, because often I feel like a person from the last century who can’t say what I think or feel without wanting to run headlong into a wall with embarrassment and flaming ears. I’ve never told my family what I feel about them because it’s just not how I grew up – the shock might drive them to their grave. Not my friends (although that I have probably done as I ask them to save my sorry neck for a perceived life-or-death situation), not anyone I’ve ever liked. But I probably told my dog I love him when he howls in protest at my male neighbor who keeps singing Taylor Swift songs in falsetto.
Fine, that doesn’t count.
You’d hear it a lot, though: people being so…
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