I remember the first post I wrote on this blog, a blog I had no idea what would become. In the beginning, I didn't write this blog for myself, because I didn't know what that meant. I didn't even know who I was. I would think about this sometimes, about what impact my words would have, or whether or not anyone read it. But now, four years later, I understand that this blog was meant for only me. It wasn't always written for me, but with other people in mind. And for a while, this almost made me ashamed.

Almost.

Now I think, I wouldn't change any word I've written here, especially the ones disagreed with. Because how else will dialogue begin if there's no disagreement, no uncomfortabity? I used to be so afraid of being out of my comfort zone, of thinking differently, of doubting the norm. And to an extent, I still am. But I welcome the fear, because it makes me feel alive. It makes me remember that nothing is ever what it seems. I have grown so much since the first post I wrote, and there was a time that it terrified me, because I didn't recognize myself. But then I realized that that's the beauty of growth. It's unexpected, and never happens the way you think it should.

I want to grow, better yet, I have a hunger for it. I want to change, develop, learn. Because the more I learn, the more I realize how oppressed we are, by ideas, ignorance, society. 

And the only way to free yourself this is to face it.

I used to think I couldn't help who I like, maybe to an extent, I still do. 

But I don't want to use that excuse anymore. I don't want to wait for things to change anymore because it feels like I'm waiting for my life to start, waiting for something to happen, while my life is rushing past me. 

So I'm done liking the person that I do. I don't know how many times I've said this. I remember when I told myself I would only give myself one night to get over him, and one night turned into a week which turned into two months. Two months of waiting for him to tell me something, anything, but really what I wanted to hear; that he cared about me too.

Instead, I heard silence. I waited for silence. I waited for a prom invitation that never came. because while I was asking for him to ask me, he was waiting for all of those girls he brags about to say yes.

I want to say that I feel like a fool. but to be honest, I don't. I'm not sorry that I bluntly told him how I felt. I'm not sorry that I obsessively waited for an answer that obviously will never come. 

I am sorry that I pretended that nothing changed, that I pretended that I feel the same. I'm sorry that I hope that he would say something different. 

a year ago,  would've hated hi I would've written shitty poems how I felt without ever saying his name. 

But now, I almost feel bad for him. I don't want to wait anymore, for him to realize or not realize how he feels. I don't want to wait period. 

i just want to live life.