Clean Slate.

Most of the girls my age wonder when that cute boy will finally kiss them or ponder upon the day when the  casual conversations and teases with that special someone will become something more. I would say that those are some of my typical fantasies but then again, I'm not just a regular girl. Instead my daydreams consist of a casual hello in the hallway or a text saying "hey, how's it going?". Not exactly romantic, but we all have to start somewhere right?


And that's the thing that kills me.


Other than school dances (majority of girls choice) I've never been on a date before. 
Not only that, but no guy has ever asked for my name or number ever. EVER


Kind of sad.
How unfortunate.
What a disaster


Heartbreaking.


I'm so...pathetic.


Is there something wrong with me? 


A lot of people I know call me a late bloomer. But maybe that isn't it. 
Maybe I'm a dud. 
It doesn't help that my best friends are all truly gorgeous, flawless beyond imagination.


Liquid chocolate eyes.
Perfect golden hair
Drill Captain.
Gorgeous smile with confidence to boot.
National American Miss runner up.


Oh and there's me, what's the word again? Oh yeah. Pathetic.


Pitiful Pathetic Lamentable Low Inadequate Shabby Insignificant Despicable
Dismal Worthless Hateful Contemptible Alone Sad Unfortunate Disaster


Is it so wrong to want something? To want attention? To look good in pictures?
To not need billowy clothing to hide one's body? To want someone to call?
To go on a date? To kiss a boy? To feel needed?


So many questions and so many needs.


Someone I know told me they respected me because I never act desperate. But in reality, all that I have is a\  mask. I'm good at hiding, so well that no one would ever expect me to feel down on myself. I'm good at focusing on others problems. Because in their world my problems don't exist. To them, real problems are issues with boyfriends and horrible date experiences. In which I have none. To them I don't care about these things. How would Emily ever know? She's never even liked a boy.
I have.
I was just too afraid to show it, because I knew what would happen if i did. 
Disappointment


Who will read this? No one. Because Emily never has anything interesting to say.