Not Quite Boyfriend

We never went out, we never hung out, but we were friends. It just took one simple smile, aimed straight for me, that made me fall, spinning head over heels. We had gone through elementary school together, even talked some, but it wasn't till the second day of middle school, in seventh grade, that we first really connected. He and I shared the same bus stop. We traded some secrets and gradually I felt his smiles were more than just friendly. I was so far gone, I couldn't have been saved. One and a half years passed. I scribbled his name in my journals, tagged his last name onto my first, created a whole wedding story for the both of us. I was happy, even knowing that he probably didn't feel the same way. Until the day when somebody blabbed. They told him that I had scribed his initials on my jeans, how "obsessed" I was with him. I wasn't obsessed. I was in love. He called me names after that, saying that when I walked, the ground shook. I was a little bit over weight. He said other things. Some of my friends turned on me, saying that I was "PMS"ing and things like that. I had been betrayed, and he had no idea how many times I had cried for, and because, of him.
Now we barely talk, a simple hello every few weeks, a short sentence here and there. I thought he was the one, in the end, he just didn't add up to have enough courage.

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