Sophomore Year: As I sit there in English class, I stared at the girl next to me. She was my so called “best friend”. I stared at her long, silky hair, and wished she was mine, but she didn’t notice me like that, and I knew it. After class, she walked up to me and asked me for the notes she had missed the day before, and I handed them to her. She said “thanks” and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends. I love her, but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.

Junior Year: The phone rang, and on the other end it was her. She was in tears, mumbling on, and on about how her love had broken her heart. She asked me to come over because she didn’t want to be alone; so I did. As I sat next to her on the sofa, I stared at her soft eyes, wishing she was mine. Two hours later she decided to go to sleep. She looked at me, and said “thanks” and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends. I love her, but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.

Senior Year: The day before prom she walked to my locker and said, “My date is sick, he’s not going.” Well, I didn’t have a date either, and in 7th grade we made a promise that if neither of us had dates we would go together but just as “friends.” So we did; on prom night, after everything was over, I was standing at her front door step and stared at her as she smiled at me. She stared at me with her crystal eyes. I want her to be mine, but she doesn’t notice me like that, and I knew it. Then she said, “I had the best time, thanks!”, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends. I love her, but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.

Graduation Day: A day passed, then a week, then a month, before I knew it, it was graduation day. I watched as her perfect body floated like an angel up onstage to get her diploma. I wanted her to be mine, but she doesn’t notice me like that, and I knew it. Before everyone went home, she came to in her smock and hat, and cried as I hugged her. Then she lifted her head from my shoulder and said “You’re my best friend, thanks!”, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, and I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends. I love her, but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.

A Few Years Later: Now I sit in the pews of the church. That girl is getting married now. I watched her say, “I do”, and drive off to her new life, married to another man. I wanted her to be mine, but she doesn’t see me like that, and I knew it. But before she drove away, she came to me, and said “You came. Thanks!”, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I want to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends. I love her, but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.

Funeral: Years passed; I looked down at the coffin of a girl who used to be my best friend. At the service, the read a diary entry she had wrote in her high school years. This is what it read: I stared at him wishing he was mine, but he doesn’t notice me like that, and I know it. I want to tell him, I want him to know that I don’t want to be just friends. I love him, but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why, I wish he would tell me he loves me!

I wished I did too… I thought to myself, and I cried!