Teenage Angst and False Bravery

Last night I let her sit shotgun

cause I thought you would like that. And then you grabbed my arm in the store and spun me in circles and I don't know if you liked that, but I did. And when you hid from us  I was hoping I'd find you first. I love her to death and sometimes I feel like you do too and that kills me.

Please mom, can I keep him? I've spent my life giving away the things I love most because I don't know what else to do. And as selfless as that sounds, I'm selfish. And that scares me. Just this once I'd like to know what flying feels like. To be so blindly completely happy and free that the world won't scare me  anymore and I won't cry every time I deposit a check online or think about calling my mom before bed instead of just walking to the next room. 

Last night you were so curious about why people thought that we were dating and I felt my heart stop each time it got brought up because I knew the simplest of words could break it and I didn't want to go home with a stomach ache. Simple words and broken hearts make for a bad combination, I know this... I know I should distance myself from the oblivious boy but I think it's adorable when he flips me off with his ring finger and rests his head on my shoulder. I'm like a deer in the headlights, trapped. And the end of this story is already foreseeable in my minds eye. 

Unmoving on the side of road, unblinking, unseeing, unfeeling. Covered in flies and waiting to be taken away from the public's eye because people don't care about the broken heart on the side of the road. And I know she'll be sitting shotgun in the side of your car when you drive past, because I'm a coward. And I know you won't give it a second thought because it happens all the time. 

And I'm so tired of writing about you, and writing about love because I'd like to believe I'm still just a stupid kid. Adults say I don't know what love is and I'm praying to God every night that, that's true. That love isn't all broken hearts and tubs of icecream. That it isn't redheaded boys and meetings with my bishop or trips to kohlers and always feeling not good enough. I'm crossing my fingers it isn't Taylor swift or all the tears I've already cried about my false pretentions of "love". Because love is killin' me. And I'm too young for this. 

Daveni.