Out of all the people...

I was the oldest PERSON at my sister's birthday party.

Everyone was amazing, sweet, incredibly social, smart, and hilarious.

I was also very social... I even turned into a hero after I introduced the gang of midwesterners to the drinking game that is "Boom!"

Very strange to be liked, and to not be in a hostile, or awkward environment.

I thought I was going crazy when I noticed the adorably sarcastic blonde boy of the bunch flirt with me.

He was the epitome of the All-American Boy... a midwestern boy with dimples and everything. Blonde, built, blue-eyed (shit, enough alliteration there, AnoMALIE?)... football-fanatic.

I went with the flow.

For the first time in a LONG time... I threw caution to the wind and I... just didn't give a fuck.

It kinda helped that I was buzzing pretty hard... and that he was a good-looking white boy... a funny boy.

He was reeling from a recent breakup with his childhood sweetheart, I knew it, and I didn't give a fuck.

He hollered, I said "fuck it," and we became buddies.

No, I didn't fuck the dude... shit, I didn't even make out with him. We just flirted heavily... and cuddled since he spent the night (his best friend is dating one of D's roomies).

You can only spend so much fucking time yearning, hoping, that some day... some fucking magical day, your Darcy will finally agree to give you a shot.

Eight years is like... I should get a motherfucking medal for that... or a backhanded slap across the face... with an iron glove.

I've been unable to allow anyone near me because I... can't get Darcy out of my... heart...
Saturday, I was finally fed up with my own stupidity, that I allowed this heartbroken white boy to chill with me for a bit. Luckily he was a nice dude... not pushy or anything, he just wanted some attention, and the reassurance that he would be ok.

Me? I wanted to... smile. And I did-- I downright laughed the night away.

A cute boy chose me in a room full of girls (he was the ONLY single guy)... laughed with me... kept me company... and even rough-housed with me...

and I still felt... empty. 

I still felt better once he was gone.

Anything different? This time, I did not wish he'd be someone else... and I STAYED. 

I just... no longer care.

I'm dead inside.