In fourth grade, was it? There was this boy who was in my class. At the time, I didn't know him. He left in sixth grade and by then, I still didn't know him. Let's call him my deary because that's what my other self has been calling him lately. LOL

I find it awkward to address someone by their name directly in this journal when I have special connections with them. Number nine, for example, never had his real name revealed, correct? Well, to confirm, you could go ahead and read a few of my previously uploaded entries.

Anyway, in seventh grade, we started talking over MSN. I don't know how many of you are familiar with that, but it was basically a server that enabled people to instant message each other. You needed to exchange email addresses and yeah.

I don't know how my deary got my email address. Now that I think about it, I don't recall ever telling him. I wouldn't tell someone I didn't know, and even though we met in grade four, I didn't quite get to know him until seventh grade. Hm... Maybe it was me who got his email address first, but I legitimately do not recall.

I have mentioned him before in my journal series. If you're tentative enough, you can probably tell who my deary is easily. Aha, but don't spoil it for those who don't know, okay? He might not even know himself.

Dear my deary, you probably know who you are based on the date and time this entry was written.

I really liked my deary in seventh grade. In fact, my fondness for him never died completely. It had its peaks and valleys, but it was always... there, be it a bright flashing sign over my head or lodged in a small gap in my heart.

When I began taking an interest in number nine, sure, my fondness in my deary went to sleep for some time. Thinking back, I really did like number nine. However, never in my time of crushing did I feel that we belonged with each other. Number nine and I could've worked if either of us braved to the other. The problem with number nine and I is that neither of us made an effort.

With my deary and I, I think we both put in a nice amount of effort. Sometimes I feel as though I'm not... liking him enough, almost. Ah, what do I do, readers? He tells me he loves me, but I can't bring myself to say them same.

Heck, I don't even know what love is. It's kind of ironic since I've been learning about it in school for years. Well, I suppose, the religious love differs slightly from the romantic type of love, right?

Anyway, I liked him a whole bunch in grade seven. I felt like I was betraying my past when I liked him the first time, but it felt acceptable, somehow. As grade nine approached, I felt the distance between my deary and I constantly increase. We drifted apart, my deary and I.

Eventually, I accepted him as a gift. He made me happy enough to live on my own and left me to do just that; live on my own.

Good thing I met a person like him, I used to think. Good thing a person like him exists in this world. Good thing this, good thing that. Indeed, there was a point of time in my life where my deary was merely a good thing.

This year, in grade ten, my first year of high school, my deary and I started talking again. I swear I wrote an entry about this recently, but I'll just repeat what I've said.

My fondness for him kind of... erupted.

I don't love him.

My deary, if you're reading this, at the moment, I don't love you.

I like him a lot, though. I like him much more than I initially anticipated to.

Ah, shoot! It's 3:47AM already? Wellers, I'm going to go do homework.

Shoot, shoot, shoot. Curse me for being so distracted.

I'll see you next entry?

There'll be no lyric excerpt thing today as I have no time to think of a song. Aha, what a pathetic excuse. sweatdrop But, alrighty, my sincerest apologies, readers. I'll write again soon! Expect, like, a confession session or something. yum_puddi